An I for an I
by lorddmarvoloriddle
Summary: After the war, Harry learns there's no such thing as a normal life. At least not for him. (harry potter/tom riddle) (!contains graphic depictions of violence)
1. Chapter 1

Beta by _vanillaghost_

* * *

Harry couldn't stop staring at the baby. The little boy lay there in the crib, his brown eyes wide and looking at him with childish curiosity. Gripping his wand a little tighter, a strange feeling curled in the pit of Harry's stomach. Something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

Doubt.

And the question of 'what if'. What if he was making the same mistake Voldemort once did? The familiarity of the situation was hilarious in its irony. Oh, the irony.

The boy appeared on the verge of crying, alarmed by the presence of the stranger leaning over him. The 'Avada Kedavra' danced on Harry's lips, but the constant nagging in his mind made him hesitate. He didn't have a horcrux. He didn't need one. Yet the mere possibility of his own spell rebounding was beyond terrifying. It had with Voldemort all those years ago, so why wouldn't it happen again?

No, he couldn't, he _wouldn't_ use magic. He scanned the small chamber, passing over countless toys, a small table, and a wardrobe. There wasn't much to look at. Harry considered returning downstairs in search of something more suitable when his eyes locked onto the wooden bars of the crib.

That would do.

His wand safely tucked into the sleeve of his coat, Harry conjured a small portion of magic on his fingertips before he gripped one of the bars and pulled. Another flick of his power and the flat end of the wooden piece was now as sharp as a dagger. The small weapon felt strange and foreign in his palm, yet he forced the unsettling sensation into the back of his mind.

Harry bent over the crib, lowering the wooden piece until it touched the chest of the wriggling child, right where its heart beat. His hand shook yet no matter how sorry he felt for this innocent life, he couldn't let the boy live. Not if Harry wanted to remain the Master of Death. Not if he wanted to remain alive. He wondered if Voldemort had felt like this too. The thought of his former enemy strengthened his resolve. Now was not the time to be sentimental.

The child whimpered softly and without looking at the boy's face, Harry stabbed him in one precise movement of his arm. And then another. And another. Until he just couldn't stop.

The sight of the mutilated body should have made him sick. Or the blood covering his hands. Instead Harry felt tired, drained, and a little disgusted with himself. But he was still there. Still in his own body, not a floating spirit as Voldemort had become after trying to murder him. Without a second thought, Harry dropped the bloody wooden piece to the floor and Apparated away.

The house was as quiet as ever when Harry returned, heart hammering in his chest. He had finally succeeded. After five months of losing sleep over the Prophecy and endless searching for the boy. After countless nights of pacing around his rented flat, debating with himself over the possible outcome of events.

Harry walked toward his bedroom where he crumpled face first onto the bed without taking his shoes off. Sometimes he missed the frame of his glasses digging into his face. The random thought passed as quickly as it came. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. It was done, but he was still discontent. There was something missing and Harry hated it. This sensation of emptiness that persisted for years ever since the Battle of Hogwarts.

He had once been briefly exalted. To finally be free of the responsibilities previously trusted upon him; from Voldemort, from everything. He'd been eager to begin his life anew with Ron and Hermione. But the sweet illusion quickly shattered. As years passed, it didn't take him long to notice the arrested development of his body. Especially when his friends matured and their age began to visibly show. All the while Harry still didn't look a day older than seventeen. Not since Voldemort died.

Harry shortly departed Britain after bidding farewell to Ron and Hermione. All under the weak excuse of needing some time to himself. After two months of research, he finally found his answers in a small Albanian wizarding village where there lived a group of dark wizards obsessed with the Deathly Hallows.

At first Harry had been reluctant to meet with people so emerged in the Dark Arts, but the burning need to know made him seek their company without a second thought. He met them under a glamour. They were a group of hostile elderly people who didn't enjoy the company of strangers very much. After only a few days spent there, Harry was shocked he hadn't put the pieces together himself. All three hallows were in his possession. He was the Master of Death.

With this discovery in mind, he intended to spend only a few days in Germany to sort out his thoughts. But days turned into months and months turned into years. Even his correspondence with Ron and Hermione became something akin to a burden. He simply wasn't able to return to Britain and pretend everything was well and fine. He hadn't even attended their wedding under the excuse of poor health.

Instead Harry dwelled on the one thing he had run from all his life. He began to study the Dark Arts. He'd been so sure of himself back then, so convinced he was strong enough to fight the temptation. Time had proven him wrong. Knowledge, especially important and valuable knowledge, came with a high price. Yet Harry was willing to pay it. Immortality sounded tempting, but forever was a long time.

He never returned to England, the name of 'Harry Potter' still on the lips of a great number of people. They were desperate to see their hero, the boy who twice defeated The Dark Lord. Harry hated the attention. In Germany, all he had to do was cover his scar and he was another teenager blending into the crowd. That uneventful period of his life had been left behind with the arrival of that Seer. She somehow managed to track him down in order to let Harry know about the so-called prophecy she had received.

He hadn't believed her at first. Why would he? For all he knew, she could be a mad woman or another desperate fan who wanted to meet him by any means possible. That was before he had entered her mind. After years of practice with willing and unwilling subjects, Harry became quite good with Legilimency. It hadn't taken him long to find the memory.

Three clear sentences spoke of his death once a certain child reached maturity. Harry had Obliviated the woman, making her forget about the existence of the prophecy, and about her meeting with him. Then Harry came to the surprising conclusion that he didn't want to die. He had so much to learn and see. The possibility of actually doing so was now more appealing than ever. He finally understood Voldemort. When one had and knew so much, he was desperate to keep it for as long as possible. Harry literally had eternity. The prophecy may prove to be self-fulfilling, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He couldn't allow a mere child take what he had. After all, Harry deserved every bit of it after all he'd been through.

At least that's what he told himself while planning the murder of the two-year-old boy.

The dead boy wouldn't get out of his head.

Harry gave up on tying to sleep and opened his eyes. He scanned the room until he found the one thing he was unconsciously looking for; the Resurrection Stone. He had come back for it in the Forbidden Forest a few days after The Battle of Hogwarts. He told himself he was just keeping it safe. Now it seemed like a joke.

Harry stood up and made his way toward the desk where he took the stone in hand. He hadn't used it since that night when Voldemort killed the horcrux inside of him. Simply hadn't had the time. He wanted to use it now. Harry itched with the need. The question was _who_ to call back? He didn't really want to see his parents. Remus or Sirius wouldn't be much better either. None of them would like what he's become.

Harry didn't know why he chose _him_ of all people. Maybe he was truly crazy now. As he turned the stone for the third time in his hand, he felt the shift in the atmosphere, the subtle drop in temperature. He was here.

"Harry Potter."

Harry turned, and there he was. But he was not how Harry expected to see him.

The man before him was not the snake-like Voldemort he was used to. No, he was almost the handsome Tom Riddle he'd seen in Dumbledore's memories in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Only older. Twenty or so years older, maybe thirty. Harry could only guess.

The other man was not dressed in the robe he had died in, but in a plain white shirt and black pants. In fact, there was something strangely muggle about his wardrobe.

The dead man glared at him, his eyes not leaving Harry's face even once.

"Voldemort," Harry acknowledged.

The man still stared at him as if Harry was the ghost, not the other way around. His now gray eyes were locked on Harry's forehead, most likely trying to catch sight of the scar under his bangs. Maybe he was trying to confirm that Harry was, well, Harry.

"It's me."

"How?" The man seemed to want to close the distance between them just to get a closer look at Harry.

"How am I still alive? Well, the spell rebounded and you were the one who-"

Voldemort's harsh voice interrupted him mid-sentence.

"Don't lecture me on such obvious things, boy. I'm asking why you still look like this after all these years!"

Harry tried to ignore the sudden urge to curse Voldemort for speaking to him in that tone. But it wasn't like he could actually do so. The next best thing on the list was to send him back where he came from. But that would be quite immature on his part.

"I'm hardly a boy anymore, so I'd appreciate it if you could stop addressing me as such," Harry complained. "Or like another one of your followers. Let's not forget who brought you here in the first place."

If Voldemort was surprised by Harry's behavior, he hid it well. He still looked displeased but at least appeared to be more civil. It was rather suspicious.

"It's going to take a long time to explain," Harry announced as he made his way toward the king sized bed and sat down.

"Am I going anywhere?"

Voldemort just stood there. If someone had previously told Harry he was going to have a conversation with Voldemort's ghost in his bedroom of all places, he would have laughed. And so he told the other everything. It wasn't like The Dark Lord could do anything with the information. The older-looking man appeared rather intrigued when Harry got to the part of him dwelling in The Dark Arts, and by the time The Prophecy was mentioned his interest was clearly stirred.

"Another Prophecy, how curious…" His eyes found Harry's and whatever he saw gave him the answer he was looking for, but Voldemort wasn't surprised. "You killed the child."

What was the point in lying to him of all people?

"I did." He couldn't help but feel annoyed at the other's smug face. "How did you know?"

Voldemort moved a step closer to where he stood, looking down at Harry. Riddle was almost transparent, the desk and its contents being visible enough for Harry to see.

"I told you once, Harry. There are strange likenesses between the two of us. You made the same decision as I did once. Not so easy to place blame right now, is it?"

He didn't conceal the bitterness in his voice. Harry held his gaze and yes, there it was. The connection he had rejected for so long. He understood Voldemort, and Riddle understood him. Always had, always will. And none of them liked it. It was too intimate, this type of bond with another being.

"So, Harry Potter, what did you bring me here for?" Voldemort asked.

Harry was taken aback and at a loss for words. "I…because," he frantically searched his mind for the right thing to say. But there was nothing. Just the truth. "I... don't know."

The corners of Riddle's mouth lifted a little. The man nodded his head, his gray eyes not leaving Harry's face.

"Then again, Potter, I suppose it doesn't really matter."

Harry couldn't agree more.

He found himself summoning Voldemort more and more often. It had been subtle at first. Once a week when he truly didn't have anything else to do, yet it soon became a habit. Two months passed since the first time they talked, and for more than a week Riddle had spent the entire day at Harry's house. And Harry had enjoyed the company. He anticipated it. Couldn't even fathom when Voldemort had suddenly changed to Riddle in his mind.

The man was quiet most of the time, simply content to watch Harry and whatever he was doing at the moment. Mostly reading. Harry should have found the other's constant gaze creepy, but it actually made him feel comfortable. Of course, he would rather die than tell Riddle _that_.

Harry sighed as he realized he was reading the same paragraph for the fourth time in a row now, and closed the book, annoyed with himself. Riddle sat by the window and turned to look at him.

"Done already?"

As if he was truly interested.

"For now." Harry made a pause before speaking again. "Why are you dressed like this?"

Riddle's eyebrows rose at the question. He seemed to be considering his answer, most likely debating whether to lie or not.

"These were the clothes I was dressed in when I made my first horcrux."

Definitely telling the truth, Harry decided. "Ok," he replied simply.

The black-haired man hummed before resuming his window gazing. It annoyed Harry.

"There must have been much more interesting things to see on the other side. Rather than this forest." He sounded like an attention seeking child.

"Not really," offered Riddle.

His tone was distant and he seemed deep in thought. They had never opened the subject of death or afterlife, but Harry didn't really need to know about that to make sense of Riddle's attitude. After all, he had always been afraid of death. Maybe that's why he preferred to stay here with Harry, doing nothing.

Harry bit his lower lip, gazing at Riddle's back, before he blinked. He couldn't see the window. Riddle and his reflection blocked the view.

"You're not transparent anymore," Harry accused.

But how was it possible? It reminded him of the diary Tom Riddle, but this version was not a horcrux. There was absolutely no way he could be one.

The man sighed and turned towards Harry. He looked tired, judging only from the set of his shoulders. Not to mention the dark circles underneath his eyes. Yet, despite this, Riddle was as devilishly handsome as ever.

"Have you ever heard of 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?" he asked. "It's a silly fairy tale that was supposedly written to teach wizarding children about wisdom, humility, morals, and so on."

"Yes, about the Deathly Hallows." Harry still remembered the story Hermione read to him and Ron, remembered how obsessed he had been with the three objects.

Riddle left his place by the window and came to stop directly in front of Harry.

"Good, then let's jump to the part concerning our situation, shall we? The second brother used the resurrection stone to bring back his dead lover. But she turned sad and cold because she didn't belong in the human world anymore. Seem familiar?"

Harry suppressed the impulse to comment on Riddle's fantastic memory before answering.

"Well, of course, but you want to stay here, don't you? She didn't. And the story didn't mention her getting more solid."

Riddle shook his head.

"What I want doesn't matter, Potter. As for the question of why I'm no longer transparent, I presume it has something to do with the long period of time I've spent here with you. I find myself speculating that I've been in the human world for much longer than the woman in the story had."

It was a plausible explanation. Still, Harry didn't want Voldemort to go. The thought was unsettling.

"And how long will this existence be enough for you?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

Riddle's jaw clenched.

"It is enough for now."

Harry stood in a dark, barely lit, and unfamiliar hallway. He blinked, listening to the nothingness around him as he calmly felt his trousers right pocket for his wand. Empty space met his hand. An unpleasant feeling curled in the pit of his stomach at the realization. Even if he logically knew this was nothing but a dream, it did little to ease his mind. Voldemort had taught him what one can experience in a mere projection of his mind.

He gazed at the door situated on the other end of the hallway as a familiar sensation washed over him. Harry knew that door, and that meant he knew where he was. Or at least his subconscious did.

 _Green door, green door_ , he repeated the words in his mind and tried to form a connection to a memory or whatever else he could find. Harry blinked. There had been a hallway similar to this one when he had killed that boy. At that time, the color of the door leading to the child's chamber had been irrelevant to the purpose of his visit. Harry hadn't paid it any mind. Apparently, a part of him had.

That meant there was only one way to wake up. And it included going into that chamber, an experience Harry would gladly avoid. It had taken him some time to bury what was left of the whole experience in the back of his mind. He slowly exhaled and moved toward his apparent destination. Harry didn't waste any time in opening the door and the sight that met his eyes only served to prove him right. It was the room of the baby. However, what he did not expect were the cries coming from the crib.

The pounding of his heart increased as he slowly came to a stop and looked down at the child. He was alive, or at least he appeared to be. Just like before, there was not a trace of fear in his eyes as he regarded Harry. The only plausible method of waking up became quite clear.

It shouldn't matter now as the child was already dead.

But his hands still trembled when he adjusted the form of the wooden piece. His lips pressed into a tight line as he held the small weapon over the tiny body. This time he didn't look away as he pierced the boy's chest.

Harry woke up to pain. His body ached all over and for a moment he wasn't sure he could actually breathe, as if something was squeezing his neck. With a groan, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, hand fumbling over the nightstand, searching for his wand. Something went knocking down before shattering.

"Potter."

Riddle stood there next to the bed, watching him.

Harry thought he may vomit but not a second later everything was fine. Just like that. For a moment Harry wondered if he was still dreaming, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed, panting. Riddle kept staring at him in that intense way of his.

The older man's facial expression was a calculated one. Like he was considering something.

"Joining me so soon?"

He didn't know if Riddle was being sarcastic or not, but he refused to take the bait. Harry rose from the bed and stepped over the pieces of broken glass on the floor, careful not to cut himself. He would clean up later.

"What's happening to me?" he asked.

Riddle raised an elegant eyebrow.

"And what makes you think I know?"

Despite your face? But Harry didn't say it out loud. "I just do," he replied.

The older man looked down at him and until now, Harry never realized how tall Riddle really was, though Harry himself _wasn't_ that short. They stood so close to each other that he should have felt Riddle's breath on his face but of course, there was none.

"Good, Harry. Excellent."

The tone was half praising, half mocking. His solid-looking hand rose toward his face and Harry half expected to feel pressure when those long fingers touched his cheek. All he got was a sensation of cold. He shuddered.

"Surely you didn't think that being the master of the Hallows would grant you immortality?" Riddle let his hand drop. "Nothing but a silly story for silly children. There was no deal with Death in the first place, only three powerful wizards with a clever idea and too much power. How you come to the conclusion the Hallows were the reason you haven't aged a day is beyond me."

"It was the only logical explication," Harry defended himself. "If you have some better idea, please feel free to share it."

Something akin to disappointment danced in Riddle's eyes. As if Harry had something to prove to him of all people.

" _And either must die at the hand of the other_..." Riddle quoted. "The only possible way for us to truly die is at the hands of one another. Now both of us know that I merely killed the piece of my soul that resided into you that night you came to me in the Forbidden Forest."

It made a lot of sense. Harry's 'Master of Death' theory seemed foolish now. He moved a few steps back, putting some distance between him and Riddle. He couldn't think straight with the other man standing so close to him.

"Fine," Harry exhaled. "That still doesn't explain what happened to me before. _That_ didn't feel like immortality at all."

"At the moment I can only give you theories."

"Fine, then give me your theories. It's still better than nothing,"

Harry hated how panicked he sounded and knew he shouldn't have asked for Riddle's help. Shouldn't trust his explanations. However, this didn't stop him from actually doing so.

"These episodes have gone on for quite some time," Riddle began and casually leaned against the table in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest.

It was the truth, although it was a rare occurrence. Usually two times a month or so. Harry considered telling Riddle about his dream but quickly banished the thought. The Dark Lord didn't need to know about his guilty conscience.

Harry could barely distinguish the older man in the darkness, so with just a snap of Harry's fingers, the room came into light. Something flickered in Riddle's gray eyes as he followed his movement. Longing. For something he wasn't able to do anymore. Harry couldn't bear to imagine how it must feel to be robbed of your own magic, of your own powers. Especially for someone like Riddle.

"That's a statement, not a question," Harry said as he pulled a chair not too far away from where the other sat.

They were face to face now and it didn't escape his notice that Riddle seemed pleased by his deduction. The man clearly wanted him to know that. Manipulative bastard.

"Yes, it was a statement. If I had to guess for how long, I'd say a few months after my demise. Maybe more."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he nodded at Riddle's words. The man was unbelievably brilliant, in a way that Harry couldn't believe was possible.

"One month after. But it wasn't so bad at first."

"That much I figured," concluded Riddle. His fingers drummed against the table as he spoke, but there was no sound in the silent room.

"It's because you're dead," Harry suddenly realized as Riddle looked at him. "The prophecy… It says I can die by your hands only, and the other way around. I'm unable to physically die because you didn't personally kill me. But my soul…"

"Your soul knows that my soul is not in this world anymore," finished the other in his place. "Or what was left of it anyway."

Harry couldn't figure out what to say, as the only possible solution formed in his mind; If he wanted to live, he'd have to bring Voldemort back. But that was absolutely crazy, even thinking about such thing. Harry knew Riddle was aware of his current train of thought.

The older man only seemed to be waiting for him to come to terms with the situation. To convince himself there was no other way around this. Because there truly wasn't, and Harry didn't need any research to figure it out. But to give in to what Riddle wanted...

"How do I know you won't get rid of me if I theoretically bring you back?" Harry dared to ask. "There are ways of destroying a person without actually killing them. From all I know, you could simply lock me up somewhere and be done with it."

Riddle's gray eyes were full of intensity.

"Yes I could, but such actions may turn against me in time," He watched Harry like a scientist would observe his experiment. "You aren't exactly easy to tame, that much I've learned from what previously happened between us. And I'm not willing to make the same mistake twice."

"Good, because I'm not the same weak boy as before. We'd be equal in terms of power." A lie, but Riddle didn't need to know that.

"You're implying you are willing to do this," concluded Riddle, leaning forward a little. A sudden change in his tone betrayed his desire and impatience.

Harry couldn't bring himself to blame him.

"Yes, I suppose I am. After all, I have no other choice. My life is on the line and as you well know, self-preservation is a very strong motivation," Harry responded and rose up from his chair. "I don't know how to bring dead people back. A few years ago I read some books about necromancy but it only concerned Inferi or other types of moving corpses… Never anything close to what you – _we_ – want."

A smirk danced on Riddle's lips and Harry couldn't help but stare at him, at how handsome he was. He felt like his sixteen-year-old self who was so mesmerized by Riddle's good looks that he couldn't keep his eyes off him. Unfortunately, it seemed like time hadn't changed a thing.

"Do not worry, Harry," The other drawled and closed the small distance between their bodies. "I know all there is to know. Your assistance is all I need."

It didn't escape Harry's notice the way his name fell from those lips.

"Good. Then I suppose we have work to do."

Harry was forced to look up in order to meet Riddle's gaze, and he was once again taken aback by the height of the older man. He blinked when he realized they were just standing there, staring into each other's eyes. Harry awkwardly moved back.

"Now, what do you know about bringing back the dead?" Harry asked.

Riddle's eyes gleamed. "You should take a seat," he advised. "This is going to take a while."

It was so cold Harry regretted not using a warming spell before they left. He was freezing.

Riddle, ever in his white shirt and black pants, stood a few steps ahead in front of the muggle tavern, not bothered at all by the cold temperature. Usually most dead people weren't. The small village in Scotland was covered in snow as it endlessly fell from the night sky. Harry normally didn't mind such weather but he would have preferred if it just stopped at that moment.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Harry asked. "It looks…"

"Like a hovel for muggle scum to drink themselves into oblivion? That's exactly what it is. And yes, Potter, of course I'm sure. "

Taking another look at the two-floor tavern, Harry sighed in annoyance.

"Fine. Let's say I find this man there. What makes you so sure he'll want to speak with me, a complete stranger? He might be a muggle but, who knows? He may be aware of who Harry Potter is…Or what, do you want me to change my appearance?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Besides, I wouldn't want you to hide your pretty face," Riddle taunted, and began to walk. "Come now, Potter, we do not have all night."

Harry rolled his eyes, barely suppressing a smile at the other's teasing words. It was a strange feeling for him. Realizing that not only did he find Riddle attractive, but also enjoyed his company and even his occasional harsh words. Harry never considered the possibility of being something other than enemies before, but here he was planning to pretty much abduct a man under Riddle's guidance. Oh well, he'd done worse things.

Harry followed Riddle until they reached the tavern where Harry took the lead. Sometimes he forgot that the other man wasn't actually there. None of them uttered a word as Harry entered the place, aware of the other's presence right behind him.

The smell of cheap alcohol and unwashed bodies hit him right away. Music played in the background, loud enough to muffle all conversation. Villagers were gathered in small groups around a few tables, drinking and laughing at their own jokes. A few curious eyes meet his own but they quickly returned to their own business. An old barman with a beard that briefly reminded Harry of Dumbledore was washing glasses behind the counter.

"He's here," Riddle said. "Right side of the room, next to the window."

Harry's attention snapped to where a middle-aged man sat over a pint of beer by himself. Their man went by the name of Richard Taft. Only he looked much older than he'd been in Riddle's memories. Harry received an annoyed glance for interrupting his drinking with a loud clearing of his throat, right beside the table.

Using Imperius on the man was a possibility but Harry would rather talk to him first. He'll see how things go.

"Mister Taft?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

He got a frown in return.

"Aye, lad," the man admitted, taking a large gulp of his drink. "And before ye ask, I'm no' buying anythin'."

"Imbecile," Riddle mumbled next to him.

Harry struggled to maintain a straight face. "I'm not selling anything, sir," he stated, careful in remembering that he appeared to only be a teenager to the other man. "May I take a seat?"

Taft sighed, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. He waited until Harry was seated before speaking.

"What's the meanin' of all this, eh? Never seen yer face 'round here, so how's a young lad such as yerself' know my name?"

He seemed suspicious of Harry. Suspicious, but not afraid. At least not yet.

"I'm here on behalf of a… family member," he began. Riddle chuckled. "You had some business with him a few years ago. You may know him as Tom Riddle."

Harry had been surprised when he found out that Riddle had used his real name in dealing with the man. But it made sense. As Riddle had explained three days ago, no one expected him to use his real name. Not even Harry. And least of all Dumbledore.

All color drained from the man's face and his expression changed into one of fear. Harry had his wand ready and hidden in his sleeve in case Richard tried anything. His eyes meet Riddle's when he moved to stand behind the muggle and observe Harry.

"I…," Taft whispered. "I know of him. But who are ye? And what's ye'r relationship to 'im?"

Using his real name was out of the question.

"My name is Harry Riddle. Tom Riddle is my father."

He watched Riddle's face when he said it and expected anger. But his once enemy seemed more surprised than anything else. Harry himself didn't know why he chose that name or that particular relationship, but he needed to convince Taft of his good intentions. Besides, the look on Riddle's face had been worth it.

It seemed to work, as the man's gaze carefully moved over him, obviously comparing Harry's features to Riddle's own. Harry was well aware they looked somehow alike, and he was going to play that card.

"Remind him of the package," urged Riddle.

"He's unable to come here himself so, as his son, I'm supposed to retrieve a package," Harry lied.

Riddle let out a small laugh, circling the table to stand right next to Harry. "You being my son… That would have been an amusing twist, don't you think?" he wondered aloud. "Imagine the surprise on the old man's face."

Damn Riddle and his twisted sense of humor.

"Can we go now, Mister Taft?" Harry asked, and tried to hide his impatience as well as his amusement. "I'm in quite a hurry."

The man looked conflicted and both Harry and Riddle saw the not-so-subtle movement of his eyes as they darted to the tavern's exit.

"Imperio him already," Riddle commanded in a bored tone.

It was done before he finished speaking.

Harry had been astonished when Riddle confessed that a sample of his own blood was in the hands of a muggle. Yet in a way, it seemed a logical thing to do. Voldemort wouldn't have risked leaving something like this in the care of a wizard, follower or not. However, a muggle under an Imperius curse… In all honestly, it was brilliant. Not that Harry would ever admit it out loud.

He and Voldemort waited in Richard Taft's small living room as the man went to fetch their package. Apparently, the muggle wasn't aware of its contents, only that it was extremely valuable and under no circumstances should it be opened. Be it other persons or even he himself. The spell Riddle cast on him was designed that way.

Riddle now stood a few steps ahead, looking far too composed to be genuine. Harry frowned at the empty beer bottles lying at the foot of the couch.

"I still can't believe you chose an alcoholic muggle to keep your blood."

"He's an outcast even in this forsaken place," explained Riddle, looking with disgust at the trash. "No family, no friends, no risk of someone coming over to this place and accidentally uncovering the package. Not that they could actually open it, but you get my point."

Riddle was right. The house showed no signs of another tenant and no pictures were framing the walls or decorating the furniture. It was a depressing sight. The floor creaked, alerting them of the presence of the owner. In his hands there was a small black box, lacking any particular design or lock. Taft's gaze was vacant as he handed it to Harry.

He turned to Riddle, who was looking at it with a hungry expression in his eyes.

"Parseltongue?" Harry guessed.

A nod was his only answer as he calmly listened to Riddle's pronunciation of the word 'open' for a few times. In moments like these, Harry really missed being able to speak and understand the language of serpents. He got it on the second try and the box opened with a click. A small vial filled with blood lay innocently inside. He took it out with more care than necessary, holding it in his open palm for Riddle to see it better.

Harry almost dropped the vial at the look of pure terror gracing the other's features. It reminded him of the expression Tom Riddle wore as he realized what Harry was about to do back in his second year at Hogwarts. Right before he stabbed the diary.

"What happened? Is this not your blood or – ?"

Riddle's fingers clenched around his palm as if he was trying to hold the vial himself. But of course, Harry felt no psychical sensation whatsoever. There was only a strange coldness around his hand.

"Someone took a part of it," Riddle growled. "It's not full!"

He was right. The vial was only a little over half full but Harry thought Riddle had poured exactly this precise amount. The older looking man turned to the muggle, a murderous look on his face.

"Stop," Harry blurted and blocked his path. "Let me do the questioning. He can't see you anyway."

Riddle was clearly displeased by the situation but motioned Harry to get on with it. The vial safely tucked in one palm, Harry whipped out his wand before he faced the muggle.

"To whom did you give the box?"

"No one," The man answered in a placid voice.

"Lies," Riddle hissed beside him.

"No, I don't think he's lying," Harry disagreed. "He literally can't. I cast the Imperius on him…"

He could feel Riddle weighing numerous possibilities in his mind before replying.

"Or at least his conscious mind doesn't know."

Harry understood the implication at once. He immediately dove into the man's head and was bombarded with meaningless memories of working in some factory nearby, drinking and occasionally sleeping with a local married woman. He concentrated on thoughts regarding the package, grazing over the time when Riddle had given it to the muggle. Harry was near the point of deciding there was nothing to see when a familiar face made him stop and the particular memory played before his eyes.

He retreated from Taft's head rather violently to find the man crumpled on the floor and gasping for air. Riddle's face immediately obscured his vision.

"What did you see?"

Harry blinked and moved back before losing his footing. Riddle moved to catch him, but his arm passed right through Harry's own. Harry stumbled into a table as he tried to calm his breathing, careful not to put too much pressure on the vial in his hand. Knowing Riddle, he was sure it had several protection charms but Harry wasn't willing to take the risk.

"Do speak, Potter. What did you see?" Riddle chided as he came closer.

Harry considered telling the man to leave him the hell alone for a few seconds but decided against it. This was not the time to argue.

"There was a woman – a witch," Harry finally managed to say. Riddle's eyes were piercing as he waited for him to finish speaking. "She used the same method as we did to deal with the man."

"That's unlikely. No one other than the two of us know about this," Riddle argued. "And it doesn't explain how she could have opened the box."

Harry couldn't stop the hysterical giggle that escaped his lips.

"She's a Seer, the same one that found me out a few months ago to tell me about the prophecy. About the boy I killed. From what I remember by digging through her head, she goes by the name of Althea or something like that."

The muggle let out a pained sound but neither he nor Riddle bothered to spare him even a glance. They were staring at one another. Harry's head was still throbbing but he managed to ignore it as much as possible. Riddle looked livid.

"You were in her mind and found nothing suspicious at all," Riddle echoed, as if he couldn't believe Harry had been that stupid.

"I...At the time, the only thing I could think about was the prophecy," Harry said before he raised his voice in defense. "And if she managed to find a way around _your_ spells, I'm sure as hell she would have been able to easily keep her thoughts away from me."

Harry felt more ashamed than angry. The possibility of the older witch playing him into murdering an innocent child was nagging at him. But he remained silent, watching Riddle's jaw work a few times.

"Once I gain a physical form, you'll show her to me through your memories," Riddle threatened. "And after that, we'll find her and get my blood back."

Riddle could have been speaking to himself but he nodded anyway. Once they brought him back the bond between them would be more powerful than ever. If someone was in possession of one of their blood…The thought was bone-chilling. Not to mention the so-called prophecy she made, but that was for Harry to deal with on his own.

There was also the question of when 'I' changed into a 'we'. Or when he started going along with it so easily.

"And we will. After your resurrection," Harry said and raised the vial once again. "It's enough for it, isn't it?"

"Fortunately, yes."

It was almost as if the Seer knew the exact amount of blood required for the ritual.

"Now dispose of the muggle and return to your flat," Riddle uttered, distancing himself from Harry. "There we will discuss the details."

He bided his time by the door until Harry muttered the deadly spell before leading them into the cold night.


	2. Chapter 2

_beta by vanillaghost_

* * *

Seeing the same man emerge from a burning cauldron for the second time in Harry's life was a strange experience. He absently rubbed the now healed cut on his left palm as Riddle's bare feet finally touched the thick layer of snow covering the ground. Or better said, Tom Riddle did, looking the same as the projection of the Stone, his ghost, or whatever he used to be a few minutes before. Only now he was naked.

Harry tried not to stare too much at his lower regions, stubbornly fixing his gaze on the other's attractive face instead.

Riddle's black hair was messy, a strand or two falling over his gray eyes and ruining his usually impeccable appearance. As if the man could read his mind, Riddle slicked it back with an elegant move of his hand. Yet Harry was sure his thoughts were safely concealed from everyone, including the former dark lord standing a few steps away and seeming unbothered by the cold.

Harry himself leaned against the grave of Tom Riddle Sr., arms crossed over his chest, watching his son. The older looking man just stood there. Yet at the same time, Harry could psychically feel the waves of magic, the raw power radiating from the man just by breathing. It was intoxicating.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Riddle concealed his magic while a long black robe materialized out of nowhere over his broad shoulders. Harry was grateful, as it made their future conversation a little less awkward. Not feeling Riddle's power all over the place helped as well.

"It worked," Harry said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Of course it did," Riddle drawled, and clenched his fingers a few times as if getting used to his own body. "After all, you performed the ritual under my guidance."

Harry rolled his eyes at the arrogance in the other man's words, but it was the truth. And both of them knew it well.

"Your modesty is truly astonishing. And by the way, your wand is over there," Harry motioned behind the tall man to the object lying on top of a floating gray box.

It flew right into Riddle's stretched palm before Harry finished speaking and the support vanished into thin air. A few silver sparks emerged from the wand's tip at the contact with its master.

Riddle turned his attention to Harry, looked him up and down, and took in his relaxed posture against his father's grave. The man appeared to be intrigued by the sight. He stepped closer and closer, snow crunching under his feet. Harry didn't move an inch or back away from where he stood. Not even when he felt the other's warm breath on his cheek.

"You aren't afraid of me," Riddle mused, and solid fingers clenched around one of Harry's arms to shift it away from his body. It was not tight enough to actually hurt but it was not pleasant either. Harry shrugged, arm still in Riddle's grip.

"Well, for the time being, I'm aware of what you want and what your objectives are. More or less. Not to mention, I also understand you. You can't be afraid of someone you understand."

Riddle stared down at him, silently taking in Harry's words.

"Interesting point of view you have," Riddle argued. "But you're wrong. Knowing what someone is capable of only serves to make you more terrified of that person. The privilege of ignorance disappears. So tell me, Boy Who Lived, my Chosen One, Harry Potter. How are you not terrified of what I could possibly do to you now?"

The question might have been rhetorical but Harry was going to answer it anyway, and finally freed his arm from Riddle's grasp. There was anger in the other man's eyes at the action but he did not make a move to stop Harry.

"And yet I'm not. Because whether we like it or not, for the time being we need each other to stay alive."

For a moment, Harry was sure Riddle was going to strike him. But the man only smiled, as if Harry had made an extremely funny joke.

"Then I'm afraid age has not made you any wiser," Riddle finished.

And just like that, he extended a hand in a gesture that was too polite to match his earlier may-be-threat.

"Shall we?"

Playful words, but there was not a trace of amusement in Riddle's voice or expression. Harry did not bother to respond; merely placed his hand in Voldemort's larger one and waited for the familiar pull in his navel. They were both silent as Riddle's long fingers tightened around his own with more force than was necessary.

In Harry's opinion Mittenwald was beyond breathtaking with its narrow streets and magnificently decorated houses. It resembled something straight out a fairytale. The small city in the Bavarian Alps had been their home for two days and Harry still managed to be awed by its beauty. Especially now, during the winter.

They rented a single room at Riddle's orders in a hotel downtown whose name Harry could barely pronounce while trying to familiarize themselves with the area before acting.

Harry sighed and tapped his fingers on the window glass. Outside a group of children finally managed to fix the snowman's head from where it tumbled down a little while ago. It was almost evening now and the street lamps were being lit by the locals, casting a warm glow over the place.

"Potter."

Harry turned at the sound of Riddle's voice to find the man dressed to go out, coat on and everything. Harry himself had been ready for quite some time now.

"You think we'll find something there?" Harry couldn't help but ask. "About Althea? She probably erased everyone's memories just to be safe. At least that's what I would have done."

He actually would have rather gone straight to the Seer's hideout in those mountains. But Riddle was right. It was wiser to wait here and try to gather some information first instead of throw themselves head long into the unknown.

"Maybe. Or maybe not, it doesn't matter. I know my way around memory charms if needed," Riddle said as he put on a pair of black gloves. "Besides, we need to become more familiar with the area. Posing as muggle tourists is easier. Now let's head out."

The keeper of the hotel was a red haired man in his fifties who politely greeted them when they left the building. Harry raised an eyebrow at Riddle when the other man answered in flawless German.

"Is there anything you don't know?" Harry asked. "Besides being a nice person?"

"Hardly. Not that you're in any position to speak about kindness."

Harry remained silent as they passed the group of children and their snowman. They gathered a few curious stares but thankfully no snowballs. He saw Riddle's lips curl in distaste at the sight.

"You don't like children," concluded Harry, careful not to slip onto the icy road and bump into his companion by mistake.

The other nodded, apparently unbothered by their brief body contact. Harry didn't offer an apology.

"What's there to like about them?" Riddle asked. "They're loud, dirty, and lack the minimum intellect for a bearable conversation."

"We've all been children," Harry tried to reason.

"True, but I don't remember ever being so moronic. Now let's cease this meaningless conversation. We're here."

The shop name read "Antiquary" and looked exactly the same as it did in the short image Harry gathered from the Seer's mind a few months ago. Right down to the number ten painted on the door. It was rusted now yet the red was still distinguishable.

A bell chimed when they entered. Riddle went first and Harry followed, coughing at the strong smell that invaded his nostrils. There was a smoky fragrance in the air which added to the natural musty smell of the worn down shop. Harry's eyes started to water.

"How can I help you?"

The old woman behind the counter addressed the question in broken English while smiling at the two of them. Bony hands closed the pages of a large book and her long white hair was gathered on top of her head in a complicated braid. The smell didn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

"Good evening," Riddle began, flashing the lady a dazzling grin.

The woman grinned back and let out a chuckle. Harry struggled not to roll his eyes at Riddle's flirtatious behavior. It was Hepzibah Smith all over again. Harry just hoped this lady wouldn't end up the same. She seemed nice.

"Hello," Harry added and stepped out from behind Riddle in order to properly be seen. "We're just looking around for the time being but if we need any help we'll let you know immediately."

"Of course, dear."

Harry offered her an honest smile and decided to inspect the shelf on the other side of the room. Riddle followed close behind. All kinds of muggle trinkets were on display, from jewelry boxes to complex clockwork mechanisms. All pretty but lacking any trace of magic.

Riddle leaned over his shoulder, pretending to inspect a shiny toy soldier.

"I don't detect anything. Not in this part of the store, at least."

His hot breath washed over Harry's neck as he spoke, tone low enough for only him to hear. They were standing way too close.

"Me neither," Harry said and sneaked a glance in the back of the shop where piles of books were stored. "Do you think…?"

Riddle sighed. "Wait here, Potter. I'll go and check."

Harry watched him go until Riddle's back disappeared behind a bookstand. Turning around, he saw the woman watching him with a knowing smile on her wrinkled lips. His fingers twitched, a breath away from taking out his wand. If she tried anything…

"Young man, forgive me for intruding, but you and your husband make a lovely couple." Seeing Harry's shocked face she hurried to add. "Or lover. I keep forgetting that most couples aren't married these days."

Harry opened his mouth to deny the ridiculous presumption but there was no point. What she or anyone else thought did not matter. Instead, Harry awkwardly nodded his head in what he hoped was acceptance and let out a breath of relief when he saw Riddle coming back his way. He wasn't surprised by the sudden vacant look in the woman's eyes.

"Our Seer was here," Riddle spoke, and motioned Harry towards the exit. "Some of the books in the back are filled with magical theory. Nothing too incriminating but a lot of shelves are empty."

"She took them," concluded Harry, letting the door fall back against Riddle's hands. "I mean, look at this place. It doesn't look like it gets plenty of customers. It's the perfect place for a witch to handle her affairs in an entirely muggle town."

"I came to the same conclusion. We'll return here after we find out what Althea has to do with this shop. I doubt she's just a faithful client in search of ancient bracelets," Riddle said with a snort.

"I agree. Are we going back to the hotel now?" Harry looked up when a snowflake touched his face.

Great. It was snowing again.

It was dark outside and the streets were filled with people taking a night time stroll, all admiring the colorful trinkets on display in the shop windows. Harry and Riddle hurried to get away from the "Antiquary" and fell behind a small family with their two kids.

The road back to their hotel was brief and strangely pleasant. They walked side by side through the small village, surrounded by more people than Harry would have expected considering the weather. However, nobody seemed particularly interested in him and Riddle as the place was filled with tourists of every age and nationality. Among so many others, the two of them were just faces blending in the crowd.

Riddle was pleasant company, Harry soon found out. Without being asked, he offered Harry small pieces of knowledge concerning the village and its history. Normally these types of things bored Harry but the other man made it all appear more captivating than they had the right to be. He also did not mind answering Harry's questions at times. Things like 'What's over there?' or 'Do you know why that house is build that way?' were met with short but thoughtful explanations.

Harry wondered if this small talk was meant to take their minds off their current problem. It most likely was but he was glad as it kind of worked. His head hurt, knowing it was no use thinking about the Seer right now. He ached for a full night of rest without the worry of tomorrow. At least now they were sure Althea really had been in Mittenwald, so they could relax. Even if for just a little bit.

When they returned to their room, Harry headed straight to the bathroom to get a change of clothes on. Some part of him wanted to forget about the Seer and all their problems. To just enjoy the short time spent here, away from anyone who may know him or Riddle.

Harry finished washing rather quickly and when he got out of the shower, dressed in warm comfortable clothes, the fire burned hot in the fireplace. He stood for a moment in the doorway, towel in hand, staring at Riddle. The man was comfortably sitting on their small couch, twirling a glass of wine in his long fingers. His black shirt had a few buttons undone. Not that Harry was looking at such a thing.

 _His husband_.

Harry almost laughed at the idea. Picturing Tom Riddle being someone's husband. _His_ husband. The old lady hadn't even come close to what they were.

But what were they?

Not enemies, at least not anymore. Partners? Maybe allies? Somehow none of those words fitted the two of them. Harry wasn't sure there was one.

"Are you going to stay there all night, Potter?" Riddle taunted, and raised an elegant eyebrow at him. "I don't bite. Not too hard at least."

Harry chuckled.

"Nice try at being funny. Just so that you know, you were much more agreeable back when you didn't have a body."

"Back then I didn't know some woman had my blood," Riddle quipped. "Now do sit down. It seems you want to talk."

Harry saw no reason to refuse; the chair he sat in was warm from being in front of the fireplace. They were face to face now. Harry accepted the glass of wine Riddle offered him with a reach of his arm.

"I heard you talking to the muggle while we were at the shop," Riddle said after taking a large sip of his drink.

Harry almost choked. "Yeah, um…," he began, debating whatever or not to tell the truth. "Well… she thought we were married. Can you believe it?"

Riddle did not laugh. Not that Harry expected him to. Instead, he seemed intrigued by the outcome of events.

"Did she now? I wonder what gave her that impression."

His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"What do you mean?" Harry worried.

"We've always been quite the pair, wouldn't you agree? Our relationship is an exceptional one. Enemies, allies, whatever name you would give it. Speak truthfully, how many persons do you really notice when I'm in the same room as you? Or close proximity for the matter."

Denial was becoming ridiculous, especially when Harry was aware Riddle was right. And Riddle knew that Harry knew. The man's presence had always demanded his full attention. Even back in his second year, when he had no idea Tom Riddle and Voldemort were one and the same.

"Well, yes," he finally admitted. "But it's not like that."

Both of them knew what _'that'_ meant.

"Or maybe that's how we look like to everyone else," Riddle concluded in a passive voice.

"And doesn't it bother you? That people think we're– " Harry began, but was immediately cut off.

"I've been called worse things than homosexual. So no, it does not bother me."

Harry was left stunned by the sincerity in his voice. Sometimes he forgot about the orphaned, penniless boy sorted into Slytherin without a proper family name. Harry took a sip of his drink to have something to do with his hands.

"What about tomorrow? Maybe we should just go directly to her home and deal with her. See what she wants with us," Harry offered, trying to change the subject. "We're strong enough for that."

Riddle shook his head.

"Not yet. I want to thoroughly search the shop, there's something strange going on in there. Something that makes the Seer interested in that place. Don't know exactly what at the moment, but I know I'm right. The woman's mind had been effortless to get into, even for a muggle. Someone had done it before, often in fact. You don't need to be too clever to figure it out."

Harry sighed, ignoring Riddle's might-be-insult. The man clearly didn't want to discuss this subject anymore.

"Then we'll go again tomorrow morning."

Riddle nodded, his face unreadable. Only his eyes were different, warmer. Or maybe it was just the fire reflecting in them. It looked very pretty.

Harry realized he was staring and quickly adverted his eyes. He was grateful that the other man hadn't seen him. That would have been hard to explain.

"Also, I admit I was quite entertained by the story you served to the muggle. About you being my son," Riddle continued.

"You don't look old enough to be my father," Harry objected, and returned his gaze to find the other man's attention already fixed on him.

He got an amused look from his once enemy.

"That's debatable."

The mental image of Riddle having sex with some unknown person came to Harry's mind. It was hard looking the man straight in the eye after the thought. Harry eyed the king size bed, struggling to find a way out of this conversation.

"Who sleeps where?" he asked.

"Take the bed."

There was no trace of irony in the other man's words.

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight Harry," Riddle responded without meeting his gaze, staring ahead into the flames of the fireplace, his previous playful attitude vanishing at once.

Once tucked under the covers, surrounded by warmth, he watched Riddle's back as he continued to drink his wine. It was strange, Harry thought. How easily he let himself get used to falling asleep in the Dark Lord's presence. How he didn't feel vulnerable doing so.

Soon enough Harry fell asleep gazing at Riddle, concentrating on the steady rhythm of his breathing.

They went back to the antiquary next morning, right after breakfast. Like before, the old lady greeted them before her gaze became glossy once Riddle stood in front of her.

"Fix the mark on the door," Riddle ordered. "I doubt she'll have any customers at this early hour but I would rather not be bothered while searching the place. Questions may arise if a tourist or two suddenly go missing."

Harry did as he was told. The shop's interior was dark despite the early hour. The drapes were tightly shut with just a few lamps illuminating the place. He distinguished the stairs leading to the second floor behind the counter. After Riddle's spell indicated no other person beside the three of them in the house, they moved on, wands ready, just in case. Any powerful witch or wizard would have been capable to pass under the incantation.

Harry almost missed the basement's entrance to his right. The door was slightly open and he tugged on Riddle's sleeve to get his attention. The man did not speak and simply followed Harry's gaze.

"We must split up," Riddle murmured, eyes narrowing at the darkness surrounding the place.

Harry did not like the suggestion very much but understood the necessity of the situation. As soon as they were done with the place, the better. Not that he truly expected to find something in there. Nothing else besides dust, anyway.

"I'll check upstairs then."

Harry went on without waiting for Riddle's reply. Going up was a slow process as it was hard to see even a few steps ahead. But why was it so dark? Maybe the windows were covered. But didn't they have electricity or lamps? Candles? Standing still at the top of the stairs, Harry listened. Beside his breath, everything was dead silent.

Harry could vaguely pick out four doors – or better said; their outline. Two on the right and two on the left. Things would go so much quicker if Riddle had come with him. Well… He inhaled and tried the first door on the left as quietly as possible. It was unlocked. The smell of books invaded his nostrils and after shutting the door behind him, Harry lit the tip of his wand.

It was a storage room of some kind, but not only for books as he initially expected. Pieces of furniture were scattered around, two wardrobes, and a small closet with only one handle. Nothing out of ordinary. Nothing reeked of magic. Even the dusty books were muggle, not like the ones from downstairs.

Harry sighed as he let the light disappear and blindly reached ahead to pull the door open. He was halfway out when the sudden pain in his stomach knocked him down, wand flying from his hand somewhere into the darkness. Harry landed onto his back, hand over his stomach, feeling something leaking out of him. Blinking through the sharp pain, Harry struggled to raise his head and see his attacker but it was as if he was boneless. He had a hard time even keeping his eyes open. Harry had to call out for Riddle before passing out. Or before his attacker wanted to go for a second round. He felt the wetness of his clothes, soaking right through his winter coat. When he couldn't keep his hand pressed over his injury, it slipped and fell into warm blood. _His_ blood.

"Riddle," Harry tried to shout, but it came out as nothing but a whisper. " _Tom_ ," he called again, desperately reaching across their mental link only to find nothing. "Tom, hel –" he started but choked and felt blood spill past his lips. It was getting harder and harder to stay conscious. Harry's limbs were going numb. He briefly wondered how much time had passed, it felt like hours. But it may as well only be seconds. At least his attacker hadn't stricken again.

Harry did not know why, but he thought he had an idea why the pain began to fade. He was falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

beta by _vanillaghost_

* * *

Voldemort knew something wasn't quite right as soon as he left the basement. There hadn't been anything to look at in that place, only boxes full of muggle merchandise for the shop upstairs and a few spiders here and there. Dust covered every available surface but he wasn't bothered in the slightest. It was familiar, a reminder of his days at Hogwarts and working in Borgin and Burke's. A lifetime ago.

He considered looking around a little more before he felt it. Something he had no word for. A coldness inside his chest that spread through his whole body from head to toe. Voldemort's eyes flew to the top of the stairs. _Potter_. Ever since his… death he hadn't felt the boy like he used to before. Like he expected to. The connection was still there somewhere but it was clouded, obscured. Despite this, Voldemort tried reaching out for him and met only silence at the other end of the link. His uneasiness grew.

Voldemort considered letting his magic loose but decided against it. Chances were that someone else besides Potter might be able to sense it. His vision was used to darkness so when he took the left at top of the stairs he saw them immediately.

Two figures, one standing tall over the second who lay unmoving on the floor. His initial annoyance at not being able to sense them vanished when he saw who was down. Harry Potter, in a pool of his own blood, not moving.

Voldemort stunned the other man in a blink of an eye, knocking him unconscious. Lights illuminated the hallway as he kneeled beside Potter and searched for a pulse. Harry's clothes were red, leaking from the wound in his stomach. He knew one thing for certain. The boy _couldn't_ die, at least not right now. Not while that wretched woman had his blood. Voldemort _needed_ him to live. He needed Potter more than anything in his life at the moment. When his fingers found a faint pulse, he let out a breath of relief and cast a variety of healing spells over the damaged body.

His trousers were drenched in Potter's blood by the time he finished. The boy's pulse was back to normal now and Voldemort allowed himself to relax. He was safe, his plans were safe. Harry Potter was going to live. With a swish of his hand, Harry's clothes were back to normal, the small puddle of blood under him disappearing as well. Before standing up, his fingers grazed lightly over the famous scar on the boy's forehead. Over their link.

It was time to deal with the other man.

Harry had a bad taste in his mouth by the time he returned to consciousness. Eyes shut, he listened, but there was only silence around him. His body didn't hurt, which made him wonder if it had all been an elaborate dream. Nothing leaked from his stomach or any other part of his body, Harry decided, as he palmed his wound through clothes that weren't his. He found nothing wrong.

His eyes fluttered open, taking in the unfamiliar setting. He was lying in a bed in an unknown room, all alone. The fire burned steady in the fireplace and his previous clothes were folded neatly on a chair. He could see only the forest outside the windows. His wand was nowhere in sight.

Harry was almost out of bed when the door to his right flew open, startling him. But it was only Riddle. The man silently took in Harry's state before coming further into the room and non-verbally summoning a chair right next to his bed.

"What in the world happened?" Harry began before Riddle could even properly sit down. "And where are we?"

Riddle sighed, taking out Harry's wand from his trousers pocket, tossing it onto the mattress. Harry immediately grabbed it.

"How do you feel?"

"Good. I think. But what happened? I remember –"

"You were stabbed, that's what happened," Riddle offered. "As for the question of where we are…. it's complicated."

He stared at his former enemy, only now noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the wrinkles of his white shirt. Had the other man even slept?

"Explain then," Harry said.

"When I arrived upstairs I saw the man standing over you. I dealt with him before moving on to fix you next in case of your death. Bringing you back would have been extremely difficult and bothersome considering you don't have other safety measures anchoring you to this world like I had."

Harry blinked. He remembered how fast his attacker had been. He had only felt the pain right before collapsing. If Riddle hadn't come…

"Did you kill him?" Harry asked, bringing the covers back over his body, feeling colder all of the sudden.

Riddle threw him a look as if he was incredibly stupid. "Of course not. I merely stunned him and kept him unconscious while I dealt with your condition," he corrected with a frown on his face. "Although the occasion never presented itself."

Harry gazed at him for a few moments. "I don't understand. He escaped you? How?"

Harry could not imagine someone being able to get away from Voldemort. No one other than himself and Dumbledore, at least.

"Althea came right after I healed you. Proved I was right all along," Riddle declared smugly. "The shop _was_ a meeting place for them."

"Them? What do you mean by them?"

"They call themselves The Dark Knights. A reminder of the first name for my Death Eaters, I suppose. The Knights of Walpurgis."

Before Harry could open his mouth, Riddle continued.

"Althea is their leader and claimed their goal was to bring me back. Their numbers are larger than I initially thought, and that's only from what I could gather in the few hours spent here."

It was clear from the way Riddle talked he wasn't pleased with their current situation. There was something else about the way he behaved.

"She wanted you back? But why?" Harry asked, eyes fixed on Riddle.

The older man returned his gaze with much more intensity than was necessary. As if he was trying to communicate something without actually speaking. Harry considered asking him directly but Riddle's expression stopped him.

"She had a vision a few years ago. About a future where dark wizards were being hunted. Exterminated one by one. She herself is one of us, so you can imagine what self-preservation can lead to."

"So we're in her home," Harry concluded, finally making sense of what was happening. They couldn't talk freely here. "I get it, but why did her man try to kill me? And what did she steal your blood for? It doesn't make any sense."

In that moment, he missed their mental connection so much. But these were safe questions, nothing Althea didn't know about. Riddle's approving face was the only answer he needed. His posture was relaxed as if they weren't being listened in on.

"Actually, it does," Riddle grinned at him, and Harry almost grinned back. He knew Harry knew. "She's a Seer. She saw the whole thing with the muggle and took my blood in order to bring me back. Of course, in the end she wasn't able to complete the whole process. Nor did she know how, and she missed the most important ingredient."

"And that would be?" Harry asked.

"You."

They both turned, Harry recognizing the voice at once. She looked exactly the same as the last time he saw her. When she delivered the prophecy about the child Harry ended up murdering in cold blood. She stood in the doorway observing them like a mother would with her misbehaving children. Despite the white color of her hair, her skin was smooth and made it impossible to guess at her age.

Althea stepped further into the room, a chair appearing out of nowhere alongside Riddle's, but not closer to Harry to which he was glad. She smiled at him but he did not return the gesture. Standing there under the covers in front of her made him feel vulnerable. However, it didn't matter. He was more than able to defend himself and in the worst case scenario, Riddle was here. Harry trusted his intentions enough to defend him if needed.

"You have my most sincere apologizes for what happened at the shop," she said. "From what I've been told, it was dark and my men aren't very kind to intruders. It's for our own safety. Lucky for you, our Lord was there in time."

Harry didn't believe a word that came out of her mouth. Not even the respectful way she addressed Riddle.

"Yes, lucky me. And now that I have the pleasure of meeting you again, I'd like you to explain the lie with the prophecy," Harry retorted, entirely aware of the sudden tension in the room.

"A lie it was, but a necessary one. That was the first step to bring The Dark Lord back into this world. An atrocious act committed by his very soul," Althea said knowingly. "Or his soulmate, if you wish."

Harry's hands trembled, one clutching his wand and the other wrapped around the covers.

"You made me kill an innocent child."

The witch shook her head in denial.

"No, Mr. Potter, I simply told you something. The decision was all yours. It had to be your call otherwise it wouldn't have worked. Otherwise, our Lord wouldn't be standing here today. The only variable I didn't see after that was you. I couldn't discern that you were the most important part of the plan and I couldn't see the alliance with The Dark Lord."

"I'm sure he understands," Riddle chimed in, eyes locked on Harry's. "Don't you, Potter?"

Such a clever liar he was. Harry was sure The Seer thought his former enemy was manipulating him. Which was true in a way. But as the saying went, 'it is better to deal with the devil you know.' And they both knew each other better than anyone else. There was no trace of doubt about that.

Riddle's plan for all this, because he surely had one, remained unknown to Harry. But despite this, he was willing to go along with it all.

"I do," Harry responded, still glaring at the witch.

From the way she looked back at him, Harry saw she hadn't bought his words. It didn't matter, as long as she thought he and Riddle couldn't really work together.

"But I'm afraid I'm not here to recall the pleasant times we had together. I came to call our Lord downstairs to meet the rest of us. I wasn't expecting you to be awake so soon."

Althea smiled sweetly at him as she got up and gave a little bow before Riddle who didn't seem to even notice her. His eyes were glued to Harry.

"If you're feeling well enough, you're welcome as well," she kindly offered, right before turning to Riddle. "That is, of course, if The Dark Lord allows it."

"We shall see."

His tone was emotionless, a silent prompter for the woman to leave the room. She took it, making yet another bow in Riddle's direction before daring to move closer to Harry and out of nowhere drop a hand on his shoulder.

"Rest well, Mr. Potter."

The contact was brief but it made Harry's skin crawl. She moved to leave when Riddle's voice called her back.

"One last thing, Althea," he chimed in. "I don't like others touching what's mine."

She had her back turned on them so Harry was unable to read her expression as she left. Only when they were finally alone did Harry see the immensity of Riddle's rage. His fists were clenched so hard his veins were showing, a venomous look in his gray eyes. It reminded him so much of his former self that Harry felt a prickle of fear just by looking at him.

"Riddle," Harry uttered, throwing the covers away at his feet. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the other to speak.

"You shouldn't leave the bed so soon."

Harry did not respond and watched as Riddle got up. The taller man advanced toward him and to Harry's utter surprise, he crouched down to his eye level. Harry blinked as fingers closed around his own in his lap. Their faces were inches apart.

"Stay here, Harry. At least for tonight."

It was half order, half plea. Harry gave in simply because Riddle wanted him to. He nodded his head in defeat, gaze tracing over Tom's handsome features. His stare was returned and with a squeeze of his hand, the former Dark Lord rose.

"Wait for me," Riddle said.

"Hurry up, then."

The corners of Riddle's mouth curled up in something akin to amusement and Harry counted it as a 'yes'. The door closed behind him.

When Harry woke up the next morning, no one came to fetch him. Riddle didn't seem to have slept there. so after getting dressed he left the room, wand safely tucked in his sleeve.

They were in a manor. That much was obvious. It had two floors and as soon as Harry started going down them, he heard voices coming from downstairs. There were no portraits decorating the walls. Not even muggle ones. He didn't bump into anyone nor was he stopped from opening the door to what he supposed was the living room.

Men and women sat around a table, perfectly mirroring past Death Eater meetings. Harry was sure he had been heard coming yet all conversations ceased as he entered. Riddle was comfortably sitting at the head of the table, fingers drumming over his armchair. He raised an eyebrow at Harry when he saw him.

"Sit."

Harry returned the cocky gesture but did as he was told. Coincidence or not, the only free chair was to Riddle's right and Harry found himself sitting face to face with Althea. If she was bothered by his presence, she didn't show it. The Seer offered him a brief grin as some kind of encouragement before returning her attention back to Riddle.

"So, My Lord, as I was saying before we were… interrupted. Our numbers will increase once word spreads that you're back. We will make our move and attack –"

"No," Riddle interrupted.

Harry took his time studying the other people sitting around the table. There were ten. Three women and seven men. A kind of inner circle, he supposed. None of them particularly stood out other than the obvious attempt at dressing like The Death Eaters, black from head to toe. One man who seemed to be in his forties with a scar covering his left cheek glared at him when their eyes meet.

"No," continued Riddle as if he hadn't observed the silent exchange. "We won't attack. Nor would you inform others of my return."

"Of course, My Lord, your secret is safe with us. We won't attack now. In a few months –"

"No, Althea, we won't attack at all. Am I making myself clear?"

If anything it seemed more like a rhetorical question but the witch nodded anyway. She was very good at hiding her emotions. Not a single trace of resentment could be read on her angular face. But then again, she had been able to play Harry himself. He shouldn't have been surprised by her acting skills. Unfortunately, the same thing couldn't be said about her minions. A few murmurs of protest could be heard around the table before Riddle's cool voice made them fall quiet in an instant.

"Get up."

Harry froze. So had everyone around him. All of a sudden the air was filled with tension and all eyes beside his were cast down. He watched Riddle – or better said, he watched Voldemort –look at one man in particular with such coldness in his eyes that it gave Harry goosebumps.

"Do not make me repeat myself," Voldemort warned.

The man's chair made a loud noise against the floor as he got up. His brown hair was slicked back and made him appear younger than he truly was. He looked like a teenager, or maybe he really was one. Harry knew it wasn't going to end well as soon as he saw the boy's expression. His features were twisted in disdain as he regarded Riddle directly.

Fool.

"Closer."

It was like hearing a ticking bomb ready to blow. The boy remained silent as he circled the table to come and stand right behind Althea, his posture radiating defiance. Judging from their terrified faces, everyone seemed to understand what was really happening. Everyone beside the boy, anyway. He believed himself to be brave, Harry realized. It was a shame nobody had taught him the difference between bravery and stupidity. Even The Seer was clever enough not to say anything.

Riddle's gray eyes were on the boy who somehow decided it was wise to talk first.

"What's the problem? I thought you're supposed to be Our Lord. But you're not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He wouldn't have hesitated to attack. To sit here like a coward!"

He was on the ground screaming his lungs out right after he finished speaking. Harry saw several flinch and avert their eyes. Riddle had not moved a finger but the boy was howling in pain, scratching at the floor with his fingernails. There was a brief moment where Harry realized he was getting too used to ignoring this show of death and suffering. The Crucio lifted but the boy didn't rise. He decided not to, or maybe he physically couldn't. Only his erratic breathing filled the room.

"This man here seems to question my identity and intentions. My authority," Riddle began, briefly gazing down at the trembling wizard. "Is there anyone else with the same opinions? If so, please step forward. We ought to settle misunderstandings, after all."

No eyes meet his. There were a few tense moments where everyone looked at their feet before Riddle spoke again.

"Very well, then."

He rose in one quick movement, sending a wordless killing curse at the boy. Everything seemed to stop as the body ceased to move. Harry's heart beat faster at the mere power Riddle radiated. It was intoxicating, maddening. He felt as if he was high, palms sweaty and everything. Nobody seemed to have the same reaction. Instead there was terror written all over their faces.

"Everyone leave."

His command was met with eagerness. As Harry rose, he stole a look at Althea who politely bowed in front of Riddle before taking her leave. He made to follow everyone but Riddle's voice stopped him.

"Not you, Potter."

Harry got a few curious gazes from the others but nobody dared to say anything. When the door finally closed behind them, Riddle walked towards him and extended a hand. Harry took it, immediately feeling the unpleasant sensation of Apparition. He released Riddle's hand once they arrived in what Harry realized was their hotel room. He couldn't deny how good it felt to be back here. How safe it seemed. Like home.

His hand tingled from where Riddle had touched him. The man moved to stand near the windows, anger obvious from his posture.

"Riddle? Are we safe here?"

The other man turned, his eyes roaming over Harry and making him feel quite naked under his intrusive gaze.

"You're always safe with me. But I assume you mean whether or not we're being watched right now. Which I assure you we aren't."

That was all Harry needed to hear.

"Did you get back your blood? Did she give it to you?" Harry asked.

Riddle nodded and moved towards the couch. Harry followed shortly behind.

"I destroyed it as soon as I got my hands on the vial."

And that was it. Nothing bonded them anymore. No common goal. They were free to go their different ways from now on. However, Harry discovered he didn't want to. Besides, Riddle would have told him if he wanted him gone. Surely.

"I don't trust her."

"Neither do I," Riddle confided. "But we can't deny her usefulness. The Knights may also come in handy."

"What do you mean?"

"I may be back but for now my power is limited to my magic. My past followers are either dead, imprisoned, or too old to be of any use to me. Besides, I intend to take a different approach this time. I will need influential people, but for the moment they're all that I have."

"You have plans," Harry repeated. "What plans?"

He didn't expect Riddle to respond truthfully, or to respond at all.

"Of course I do. I intend to gain back my power over the wizarding world, and what's a better way to do than conquer The Ministry?"

"You want to be The Minister for Magic," Harry concluded. "That's why you said earlier you won't use the Death Eaters Part Two to attack."

The corners of Riddle's mouth rose at his unintentional joke.

"I do," he confirmed, his elbows resting on his knees. "But it's a long term plan."

"And you think Althea's going to help you."

"For the time being, yes. We have the same goals, otherwise she wouldn't have prompted you to start all this. Yet I cannot know for sure. Her mind is closed to me. Any attempt at going in will be meet with what she wants me to see. Like it happened to you."

Harry still didn't like it. He understood that the whole situation was more personal for him than it was for Riddle, but Althea shouldn't be trusted. Not even as a minion or whatever Riddle considered her to be.

"Look, I understand her talent can be useful but I really, really don't trust her. She literally spied on us."

"Which I can relate to. I also spied on her and she knows it. What I'm trying to say is that for the moment we're going to use each-other."

"I still don't like it," Harry repeated out loud.

"You don't have to."

Harry's hand absently touched his stomach where his wound was supposed to be. Riddle's sharp eyes followed the movement.

"Nobody is going to hurt you, Potter. I made it quite clear you are mine. And no one touches what's mine and lives."

Harry laughed. "How am I yours?"

"As a keeper of my soul, I think I have all the rights to call you mine."

Harry didn't respond and avoided the other man's intense gaze, aware of their proximity. Of how small the couch truly was. He shouldn't think about Riddle like this. Nothing good will come of it.

"Fine. We'll do as you say."

" _We_? Are you staying then?" Riddle asked.

"Yes. It isn't like I have anywhere else to go." Which was true. "Or something else to do. And who knows? Maybe in a few years we can even change something in the wizarding world. I'll stick around for the time being."

Riddle seemed pleased. The man stood and let out a sigh.

"Very well then. I'll be taking a shower. Meanwhile you can rest."

Once alone, Harry moved over to the bed and lay down. Truthfully, he was exhausted even if he didn't want to show it in front of Riddle. He hadn't slept well at Althea's manor, not while knowing he was in her house. But now he could. Riddle was mere meters away; Harry could even hear the water running.

He closed his eyes.

Harry woke with a jolt and almost hit Riddle who leaned over him, holding his hands down against the mattress.

"You were having a nightmare," Riddle explained, still not releasing him.

Riddle was almost on top of him, shadows dancing all over his face as he looked down at Harry. It was night, there was no fire in the hearth, yet Harry was uncomfortably warm. He tried not to think about his dream. About killing that boy again, and about trembling hands drenched in blood. But it kept coming back to his mind over and over again.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Harry asked, feeling some comfort by having Riddle here with him.

"You were sleeping by the time I came back. Besides, I was the one who told you to rest."

Harry sighed. "You can release me now. I'm awake."

Riddle did not move an inch. Harry tried not to read too much into their position but it proved impossible. The man literally had him pinned to the bed, and he was sure Riddle could figure out every dirty thought he had at the moment. Maybe he ought to be disgusted by such mental pictures, yet Riddle was so handsome it took his breath away. He may or may not be a heartless monster but he was so beautiful. Not that Harry cared. He wasn't better than Riddle so who was he to speak?

Feeling bold, he curled his fingers around Riddle's upper arms with the intention of pulling him closer. However, the man didn't budge and just stood there over Harry. Looking down at him like a scientist would with an experiment. And Harry felt foolish for thinking Riddle would ever want to do this, and with him of all people. When he let his hands fall down, the older man spoke.

"Do not start this, Harry."

Riddle released his arms and straightened himself. Harry blinked before Riddle's words registered and he stood up too.

"What if I want to?"

"You don't know what you want," the other man argued, like how one would lecture a child.

Harry laughed, making Riddle frown at him.

"Of course I do. I want you. And trust me, I'm not saying I'm happy about it, but that's what I want. I knew it when that man stabbed me," Harry confessed in a soft voice, heart hammering in his chest. "Because you're the one I called for. You're the one I thought of before realizing I may as well die. So don't tell me I don't know what I want. I want you."

Riddle raised an eyebrow at him and came closer.

"Are you done?" he taunted, and tilted his head.

Harry's heart skipped a beat, Riddle's words leaving him speechless. There was no trace of empathy in the other man's words or expression. No sympathy.

"If so, return to bed and forget this conversation ever happened."

Harry wished he would have remained silent. Tears gathered in his eyes but he blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall. Without so much as another glance, Harry turned his back on the taller man and Disapparated on the spot.

10


	4. Chapter 4

beta by _vanillaghost_

* * *

Grimmauld Place was as gloomy as ever. Even Walburga Black's portrait sounded exactly the same. At least until Harry silenced her, the instant she started to scream her lungs out. He hadn't meant to come here but it had been the first place that popped into his mind when he left Riddle behind. A place to be alone, that's what he had thought of. And now here he was.

Harry stood in the middle of the living room and listened to the silence around him, frowning the second he heard slow footsteps come closer. Kreacher instantly came to mind but then he remembered the house elf was dead for some years now. A part of him knew he ought to be on his guard, wand ready to protect himself from whoever was coming his way. But he was too numb to actually do so.

 _Let them come_ , Harry thought. He could handle it.

Harry expected many things to come into view but not him. He expected Althea, or one of The Knights. He expected even a complete stranger, yet seeing Ron Weasley made Harry's blood run cold. His once best friend was old. Gone was his red hair, Harry noticed, as Ron's mouth opened and closed a few times.

"Harry?" the other asked in a soft voice.

He sounded so different. All wrong, too deep and rough. A stranger's voice.

"Yes, Ron," Harry spoke through clenched teeth. "It's me."

The other's gaze travelled over him a few times as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Mate... You look… you look exactly the same. Well, not quite," he corrected himself with a smile. "You're not wearing your glasses anymore." There was a brief hand gesture to Harry's face. "And you changed your hairstyle."

"You're old."

It sounded like an accusation. Ron blinked at him and Harry felt something he hadn't experienced in a long time. Shame. And he knew very well what for. The idea that Ron may have found out about everything he had done all those years made him ashamed of himself. He stood there; watching as Ron slowly moved forward, pulled him into a tight hug and patted his back.

Beside the occasional lingering touches with Riddle, body contact wasn't something Harry recently experienced. He awkwardly embraced him back but let go as quickly as possible. If Ron noticed, he did not say anything. They parted and Harry followed the old man to one of the dirty couches in the middle of the room. He watched as Ron more like fell than sat down, and couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with him. It had been easy to ignore his immortality up till now but seeing his friend like that made him feel so alien. So alone and _wrong_.

"Well," Ron began, and rested a trembling hand on his knee. "I guess I now understand why you left like that."

"I couldn't stay," Harry defended himself on instinct.

Ron let out an incredulous laugh which turned to coughing half way through.

"Yeah, I get it just by looking at you. The thing is…me and Hermione agreed to give you space at first. We figured after defeating You Know Who that you needed some time alone to, you know… clear your head. But months turned to years and when you didn't show up at our wedding… Well, we figured you just left. And now…"

Harry nodded his head, encouraging him to go on. The desire to know more about what happened was getting harder and harder to ignore. But Ron seemed to be just as curious about Harry, and left the latter no choice but to offer something as well.

"When I figured I wasn't getting older, I knew I had no choice but to go," Harry confessed. "So I left. At first I used to buy whatever newspapers I could get my hands on from England just to see how things were going on here. To see how people were reacting to my sudden departure. Things calmed down eventually. They didn't care anymore. Why would they? There wasn't any dark lord to be vanquished."

Ron did not meet his eyes as he nodded.

"We tried looking for you, but without any luck. Even when Hermione become Minister for Magic –"

"What?" Harry gasped, not believing his own ears.

His old friend frowned. "You didn't know?"

As if everyone else in the world but him did.

"I…I did not," Harry finally admitted and stared blankly at his feet.

"Blimey, mate. Where were you? It happened thirteen years ago."

If Hermione was the Minister that meant she was in the way of Riddle's plans, Harry concluded. Not to mention she was a real danger for them. Someone that needed to be dealt with by any means necessary. Harry couldn't decide just yet what to do with this information. But he knew he didn't like it one bit.

"Away," he managed to say after schooling his expression. "I was away."

"Ok," Ron accepted. He surely wanted to know more but something about Harry seemed to tell him he wouldn't have any success even if he insisted.

"How's everybody?"

Ron's eyes lit up as if it was Christmas or something.

"Not everything is perfect but we're good. I'm a grandfather now, can you believe it?" he laughed. "Rose and Hugo, my children, are both married and with kids as well."

" _Oh_. Congratulations."

He could not relate to this Ron. This Ron who was married and had a family. This Ron who had grandchildren while Harry was pretty much the same as before. He felt more out of place now than he ever did at the Dursleys.

"Percy is the only one who isn't married but you know how Percy is. Teddy has someone but we couldn't convince him to tell. He's very discreet about it."

"They must be happy," Harry said.

"Most of the time, we are. What about you Harry?" he asked. "Are you happy?"

Harry blinked at him, taken aback by the question.

"I don't know. Sometimes I am, sometimes I'm not. It's hard to explain. Depends."

Now that he thought about it, he had told the truth. Happiness was a complicated emotion. He had felt it lately with Riddle. Harry had been happy on their little trips, just talking and spending time with each other. When he thought Riddle had wanted him as well, he had been ecstatic. But that was a different story.

"Are you happy right now?"

"Not particularly," confessed Harry.

There was pity in Ron's wrinkled eyes and Harry hated it. He hated the realization he literally had nothing while everyone he had ever known had done something with their lives. Yet truthfully, he didn't desire a family in the whole sense of the word; a wife, children and grandchildren. No, what he desired was simply for the loneliness to cease. To have someone alongside him, someone who knew and understood him. Someone like Riddle.

"I guess that's why I came back," Harry continued after the long pause.

"And I'm more than glad to see you, but I wonder… Is this the only reason?"

Harry shrugged and looked at Ron. "I don't know. Needed some time alone and this is the first place that came to mind. Old habits die hard, as they say. What about you? What are you doing here?"

Ron smiled, letting his eyes travel across the place.

"I come here at least once a month to check for missing things. There are quite a lot of thieves around and as you're the owner of the house, I wasn't able to magically seal it from outsiders. If you had been only a few minutes late we wouldn't have met."

Harry wasn't sure it was a good thing or not.

"So," Ron continued. "Are you staying?"

Was he? Not really, but he also didn't want to see Riddle right now. Or anytime soon for that matter.

"I'll spend the night here. Need some time to think."

"Good. I'll send a letter home to let Hermione know I won't be coming home tonight." He must have seen Harry's surprised gaze. "Don't worry, mate. I know you're not ready to face her."

For that Harry was grateful.

Harry woke up quite tired the next morning. The two of them had stayed up until late talking, and despite sleeping until noon, he was exhausted. Ron had taken care of everything; food, drink, and clean bedding. It made Harry feel like even more of a stranger in his own house. He had decided to spend the night in Regulus's bedroom which surprised his old friend.

Their lunch had been nothing too fancy but was surprisingly tasteful. He didn't hold back from telling Ron that and got a laugh in response.

"Family life does that. Teaches you things you wouldn't have done in a million years. Mum was just as surprised when I told her." His eyes filled with sadness, quickly changing the subject. "So how's being forever young?"

The day passed slowly while they talked to one another and recalled past times. Harry had offered him harmless bits about his life, mostly about his travels. Ron had been interested and offered his own stories about his days as an Auror. Harry tried to keep a passive expression as the once red head mentioned hunting for dark wizards and witches. Ron looked so proud of himself.

He was in the middle of telling him about a surprisingly bloody battle when the doorbell rang, surprising them both. The couch squealed when Ron slowly got up. He didn't seem remotely surprised so Harry assumed guests were a common occurrence these days.

Harry's eyes rose from the pages of a book he was trying to read when Ron came back, a frown on his already wrinkled face.

"There's someone in the hallway asking for you. I told him I didn't know what he was talking about, but the man didn't buy it. He says he knows you're here."

A man then. Harry's first thought was Riddle, but it may as well be one of the Knights.

"What does he look like?" Harry asked as he put the book away onto the table.

"Really tall, dark haired. Good-looking, I suppose."

Riddle, then. Harry wanted to tell Ron to send him back, but the Dark Lord was sure to make his way inside even if his friend refused to let him.

"It's okay. He's my friend."

Ron's white eyebrows rose at that and without another word he left. Only a few seconds passed until he returned with Riddle following closely behind. He was dressed all in black; hair slicked back carefully, with not a strand out of place. It made his cheeks seem even more hollowed than usual but he still looked as handsome as ever. Exactly like the time he visited Hepzibah Smith. Their eyes met and Harry couldn't help but remember the cold way he had looked at him only a day before.

Riddle stood silently in the middle of the living room until Ron spoke.

"I'll leave you two alone, then. I'm going to be upstairs if you need anything."

None of them responded or even so much as looked at him. They were too focused on each other.

"You didn't come back last night," Riddle accused once Ron left and slammed the door behind him.

"Your perspicacity is astonishing. When you visited Hepzibah Smith you were more charming," Harry said and let his gaze trail over Riddle's tall form. "I don't see any flowers."

The Dark Lord's gray eyes widened a small fraction at his words.

"Do not mock me, Potter, I warn you," Riddle snarled.

"Oh? So we're back to Potter now?"

In an instant Riddle was on him, pushing him into the wall rather forcefully. His nails dug into Harry's upper arms so hard it hurt. Harry struggled against Riddle's body but he was psychically weaker and they both knew it. Harry considered pushing the man away using magic but was sure Riddle would be prepared for something like that.

"I've had enough of your whims," the taller man spat, warm breath washing over Harry's cheeks. "And over what? Because I didn't give in to your foolish desires? Do you want me so badly you can't even think clearly?"

"Get the fuck off me."

Riddle's grip on Harry's hands did not loosen one bit. Their bodies were almost pressed together, the vulnerability of the position reminding him of what The Dark Lord could possibly do to him now.

"I want you to let me go, Riddle," Harry rephrased more calmly this time and pushed against the taller man.

"I refuse."

Despite himself, Harry trembled. "Ok, look, we've both said things we shouldn't have. But it's done now. What I want doesn't matter. So just let me go before one us does something he'll come to regret later."

"The only thing I regret is letting you live long enough to mess with my mind," Riddle snarled into his face.

"What?" Only after he got over the shock and disbelief of the confession did Harry finally catch up to the rest of the sentence. "I've done nothing to you –"

"You exist, Potter. And I want you gone. I can't think clearly while you're around."

The last part was so quiet that Harry almost missed it. He searched Riddle's eyes for some kind of confirmation of what he just heard. But there was so much hatred in them he could not utter a single word and felt relief when the man finally released him to let his hands free. But he jumped again when they wrapped around his neck only seconds later.

Harry slowly, almost tentatively, reached up to curl his hands around Riddle's wrists. He didn't exactly know what he hoped to achieve with this, but at least it may prevent the other man from choking him. Riddle's heartbeat pulsed against his fingers. His eyes were way too close and whatever Harry planned to say flew out of his mind when their lips brushed almost accidently. He shuddered, fingers twitching against Riddle's wrists when he felt the man go still against him. Riddle's eyes were still filled with hatred but there was something else there, something Harry had no name for.

"Tom?" Harry whispered Riddle's true name for the first time. This single word made their lips brush together even more.

The Dark Lord's hands tightened around his neck.

"Shut up."

The words brought their mouths together again and Riddle pressed their bodies even closer.

"I –"

Without warning, Tom's lips crashed against Harry's and knocked his head against the wall behind them. Not a single thought of pulling back was on Harry's mind. He immediately parted his lips and when Riddle's tongue met his, he let out a loud moan. The sound was immediately swallowed by Tom's mouth while his hands finally left Harry's neck and tangled in his black curls. Harry's fingers moved to Tom's shoulders, feeling the hard muscles hidden under the expensive fabric of his coat. Harry clung harder to the other man's body when Tom slammed his head back against the wall as he kept devouring his mouth.

Harry pushed on Riddle's chest until his lips left his. Both of them were breathless, panting against each other. He wanted to say something, to understand what was happening and why the man was kissing him now, when he had rejected him before. But Tom moved forward, silently demanding more. Before Harry's mind could even comprehend what was happening he was yanked up until Tom was positioned between his spread legs. There was nothing sweet or gentle about what they were doing. Harry gasped when Riddle bit into his lower lip. Given their position, it was impossible not to grind against each other.

His hands travelled all over Riddle's back, touching every centimeter of Tom's body that was available to him. It did things to him, the realization that a man as dangerous and powerful as Tom Riddle – Voldemort – was holding him up with only his body, humping against Harry with such a vigorous rhythm that he could barely match. One of Tom's hands was against his hip, the other one guiding Harry's legs around his waist. He didn't need to be told twice and Riddle awarded him by pressing even closer.

The need for air separated them once again, making Harry sigh in disappointment. At least until he felt Tom's teeth scraping over his neck followed by a sharp nip.

"Tom," Harry moaned. His hands tangled in the man's stylized hair and brought his mouth back on his.

His action was met with no resistance and felt strong hands moving over his ass. In that moment Harry didn't care Ron could walk in at any moment now. He only cared about the feeling of Tom's hard cock against his own, only the hands groping him felt real at that moment. Nothing else mattered to him.

Riddle all but growled into his mouth, moving Harry's hands from his back in order to get rid of his own coat. None of them cared where it landed. Harry arched his back, shuddering when Riddle fucked his hips forward.

" _Harry_ ," Tom hissed, lips trailing over his cheek

He couldn't even speak, only ground back against Riddle as well as the position allowed him to. It felt good but Harry wanted – no, _needed_ – more. Needed to feel Tom in him, in a place no one had ever been before. The taller man pressed messy kisses down the side of his face before latching onto his mouth again. Harry sucked in a deep breath, teeth clenching when Riddle drove into him harder. His hands finally reached Tom's trousers when a gasp made their lips separate.

Both of their heads turned to see Ron standing a few feet away, looking at them with his mouth open. Tom was still holding him up, their erections painfully obvious. His fingers twitched against Harry's thighs, before slowly letting him down onto the ground.

Harry was petrified, looking at Ron, not knowing what he could say. How he could start to explain what he had just witnessed. His old friend's face was red, eyes moving from Harry to Tom and back to Harry.

"I… Harry?" he finally managed to say. "I heard noise and I thought…"

Riddle cut him off before Harry could answer.

"Harry and I are perfectly fine. We'll be leaving now."

Ron blinked at them, his eyes searching Harry's. Both friends watched as Tom casually summoned his coat back to him as if he hadn't just been caught making out with someone. With Harry. His hair and clothes were a mess. Harry was under no illusion he looked anything better.

"I'll speak to you later," Harry promised, and gathered his own jacket from the couch while he looked at Ron. "Thank you for everything."

"Um, you're welcome," responded Ron, who moved out of the doorway when Riddle stormed past dragging Harry along.

Tom seemed to want to take them outside but Harry pulled at his hand downstairs in the hallway, making the man turn toward him with a frown.

"It's my house. I can Disapparate directly from inside," he explained, conscious of Riddle's fingers holding his. Where those hands had been before. "There's no need to do it outside."

The Dark Lord nodded, gazing down at him until Harry made them both Disapparate with a pop. He almost lost his footing back in the hotel room if not for Tom's hand holding his. The taller man released him yet did not move another single centimeter. Harry did not know what to say. Or even if he should say something at all. Even Riddle was silent but for different reasons.

"Why did you that?" Harry asked. "When you mocked my feelings the other day? Or mere moments before you kissed me?"

Tom looked as if he was truly dreading this conversation. But it didn't stop Harry, he needed answers before letting himself hope again.

"Was it just to have me back here with you? Or simply because you wanted to mess with me –"

"Shut up, Harry," Riddle interrupted in a tired voice. "Shut up for a second and let me talk."

Harry did, moving back a few steps and trying not to get distracted by having Tom this close to him.

"You're right in a way. I did want you back here. I did get mad when you didn't return last night and that's precisely why I came for you. I simply kissed you because I desired to and I never was one to deny myself what I want," Riddle confessed, his eyes locked on Harry's.

Harry tried to ignore the fact that Riddle was somehow following him.

"But you rejected me," Harry reasoned with him.

"Of course I did. Because I despise my want for you. The way I can't get rid of it no matter how much I try. The fact that we have the potential to be… _real_."

"But I want us to be real," Harry blurted before he could stop himself.

Tom strode toward him, reminding them both of what they did only a few moments before. Riddle's hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging Harry closer to where he stood. There was so little space between their bodies that when Harry looked up at him he found their mouths almost touching. Again.

"Unfortunately we already are," Riddle whispered against Harry's lips. "And as much as I hate to admit it, in a way we always were. And it is unbelievable. _Outrageous_ ," he spat. "If someone had told me back then that we'd end up like this, I would have killed that person for merely suggesting such thing. But now? Now this, whatever it is between the two of us, whatever name you would give it, seems just as natural as my magic itself. And I despised it with all my being."

Harry was sure Riddle would curse him if he pointed out how much that sounded like a love confession. And at the same time he realized that was probably as close to an 'I love you' as Tom would ever give him. Harry found out it suited him just fine. But he didn't want Riddle to hate himself for this. It made his heart ache wondering how long Tom felt like this. He looked up at him.

"You already know what I'm feeling. The rest of it is yours to decide."

Riddle shifted and slowly raised his hand to Harry's face where he ran his long fingers over his lips. Harry reached out, caught Tom's other hand in his and just held it. His lips were slightly parted, the dark lord's fingers just resting there. This time there was no attempt on Riddle's part to hide his desire.

"I've kissed you earlier, haven't I?" Tom retorted. "I've already chosen what there was to choose."

His gaze tracked Harry's face, drifting down to his lips and then moving up to his eyes. He watched him intently for a few moments, as if offering Harry the chance to back down from this. He tilted his head when Tom's hand left his own to wrap his arm around Harry's waist.

"And you chose me," Harry murmured, moving his hand to rest on the taller man's shoulders.

"You know I did," Riddle replied. His grip tightened around Harry's waist, pressing their bodies together. "Yet as part of my soul you always belong to me, so the matter of choice is debatable."

Harry couldn't believe he felt so pleased after hearing something like this. Absently, he let his fingers play with the hair on Riddle's nape. The man stared down at him for a second or two before kissing him with a desperation Harry easily matched. He struggled to pull Tom even closer yet he was the one being pressed into the hard body glued to his.

Their second kiss was just as desperate as the first one. Harry groaned into Riddle's mouth when out of nowhere the man squeezed his ass. They were touching each other with every movement that was made. His lips parted, allowing Tom's tongue to slip inside as he ground against the dark lord in such manner that it made Riddle's hold on him tighten violently. The pressure on his lower parts was making him go crazy and no matter how much he pressed against Tom, it wasn't getting any better.

" _Tom_ ," Harry panted, opening his eyes just to see him. "Please", he begged. " _Please_."

He felt Riddle shudder against him yet he didn't know if it was Harry using his real name or his begging that caused it. There was no response but the look in Tom's eyes told him everything he needed to know. Harry was honored the other man was letting him see this, to see that Riddle could feel something like this. But he said none of these things out loud.

Harry wasn't able to take his eyes off Tom. He was so handsome with his black hair disheveled from where Harry's fingers had gripped him. The man leaned down and kissed him again then, and a second later Harry stood naked in his arms. His half moan, half protest vanished inside Riddle's mouth. The dark lord cupped the back of his head as if he was truly after Harry's soul. The kiss was almost violent in its passion and lasted long enough to leave them panting before pulling apart. Harry couldn't stop himself from letting his lips linger around the corners of Tom's mouth, making the other man groan straight into his ear. The sound went straight to Harry's bare cock and he rolled his hips against Riddle's. The friction between his naked skin and the almost rough material of the other man's coat made him want to rip the damned clothes off his body.

Harry lost his balance when he was pushed backwards and right onto the half-made bed from last night. He landed straight on his butt with his legs open wide, leaving nothing to the imagination. He made to close them but Tom stopped him.

"Keep your legs spread," Riddle ordered, eyes travelling all over Harry's bare body. "And your eyes on mine."

Harry fought the burning need to close his legs as tightly as possible. But at the same time he could not deny the obvious pleasure he got by laying like this in front of his once enemy.

"Good, Harry," purred Tom. He came closer and closer until he was standing directly between Harry's legs and looking down at him. " _Very good_. Now be a good boy and lay on your back for me."

Harry himself was surprised by how fast he followed the command, careful to keep his legs open. Riddle was just as fast in covering Harry with his body, sitting right between his spread legs. He could feel the other man's thick cock through his pants, pressing against his ass just in the right way and making Harry whine in the back of his throat. But he needed to talk before…before anything else.

"Tom, I've never…"Harry began to admit in a trembling voice.

Riddle hummed as he trailed his hands over Harry's thighs, startling him by the intimate touch. He looked down at Tom to find him naked as well. His body was sculpted and muscular, utterly perfect outside his clothes as he was in them. His eyes, his hands, his everything. Harry pulled on Riddle's hand, bringing the man's mouth back to his and wrapping his legs around the Dark Lord's waist to keep him where he needed him most. They both moaned when their groins touched. Harry couldn't deny he was scared by what was to follow, yet it did not stop him from pressing his ass right against Tom's cock. He moaned and clenched his legs tighter around the man's hips.

Kisses were being pressed all over Harry's chest, making him arch his back on the bed and twist his fingers into Riddle's hair. Tom sucked one of his nipples before biting down without a single warning. Harry's whole body tensed, toes curling. He must have said or done something because Riddle nibbled at his lips and whispered soothing words in his ear.

"You want me, don't you?" Riddle asked. "You want this. You want _me_."

Harry could only nod, too breathless to form a proper answer as his fingers absently massaged Tom's scalp. His heart threatened to leave his chest when Riddle grabbed his ankles, pushed his legs further apart, and maneuvered him like a rag doll. Before Harry could even realize what was happening, a cold wet finger circled his entrance. It took all he had not to squirm away from the intrusive yet pleasurable touch. Then something wet was suddenly leaking _out_ of his rim at every breath he took, making his body tremble uncontrollably. Tom's finger made his way inside him with ease.

"Tom, _Tom_ , oh!" Harry's words made no sense, just random chants of Riddle's name.

The man's finger was swirling inside him, touching everything, getting him ready for something bigger. Harry wasn't even able to think about that. How it would feel stuffed all the way inside him. His entrance clenched in need around Tom's finger, making the Dark Lord growl.

"You can take another one for me, can't you, sweetheart?"

His eyes were locked on Harry's, obviously waiting for an answer. Harry knew if he didn't speak, Riddle was capable of stopping right there. To leave them both like that.

"Yeah, yes. I can," Harry panted, trying to ignore the way Tom's fingernails dragged over his inner walls. "For you."

Harry slammed his head back against the bed, struggling to catch his breath when not one finger but two went in. His entrance ached but the steady rhythm Riddle set was awakening something inside him. In and out a few times and then once more until Harry was a mess under him. Then he noticed Tom's face. He didn't think he'd ever seen quite so much want in anyone else's eyes. Riddle's pupils were dilated, making his eyes appear entirely black. His lips were parted. He looked like a god; there was no other word to describe him.

"That's it…" Tom grunted, not ceasing his stroking one bit. "You take me so well. _Literally made for me_."

Hearing Tom praise him, the way he was losing his coherency because of Harry, was incomparable to anything else. It made Harry feel special, one of a kind. As if he was excelling at something extremely difficult, and all because the one who was praising him was Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry whined when the fingers abruptly retreated from inside him and left him empty. Tom was looking down at him, hips inching forward until the tip of his wet cock slipped inside, completely filling him in one swift thrust. Harry couldn't keep himself from crying out in pain against Riddle's lips when the man dipped his head down to kiss him. In no way did Tom go easy on him. His thrusts were quick and so deep that Harry couldn't believe it was possible. Or maybe it was magic. Eyes tightly shut, Harry gasped when Tom's cock hit something that made him see stars. His nails dug into Riddle's shoulders, drawing blood as each one of Tom's strokes brushed against that unnamed spot deep inside of him.

" _Harry_ ," panted Tom, lifting Harry's leg higher and hissing in pain from the scratches on his shoulders.

The slight change in position allowed him to bury himself deeper in Harry. After one particularly hard thrust, Harry's hands fell from Tom's shoulders and gripped his biceps instead. He bucked right back into him and watched the powerful man over him gaze at the way his cock disappeared inside Harry over and over again. Harry exhaled heavily and Tom's eyes flicked up to meet his own, gaze heavy. Harry's grip tightened on Tom's arms as the man leaned down to lock their lips together.

Then Tom quickened his pace even more, fucking into Harry fast and deep until Harry felt something edge closer and closer. His legs ached from holding them up so long but he didn't mind, didn't care. Just hung onto Tom as if his entire life depended on it. Riddle's thrusts knocked him back and forth, making the bed rock into the wall. Harry could only bury his face into Tom shoulders and gasp for air.

"Please don't stop," Harry begged, his voice cracking half-way. "Just don't stop".

"You're sure, boy-who-lived?" Riddle purred into his ear, almost breathless. "You may break."

Despite his words, Tom kept pounding into him as hard as possible. Harry's hips jerked forward as his orgasm washed over him, mouth pressed against the side of Riddle's neck and tasting the sweat of his burning skin. Involuntarily, his muscles clenched around Tom but the man didn't cease his movement. He gave four more thrusts and on the fifth his hips stopped half-way, spurting himself inside Harry, groaning as he did so. Riddle's face was hidden in the hollow of Harry's neck, still buried inside of him as they struggled to catch their breath. He couldn't help but press a kiss against his lover's forehead when he felt him starting to shift.

Harry shivered and watched Riddle' face as he pulled out. With a move of his hand, the stickiness inside and outside his entrance disappeared, leaving Harry feeling surprisingly cold. The Dark Lord leaned back down and pushed Harry's damp hair back from his forehead. Tom made no move to get up and under no circumstances was Harry going to force him.

Riddle brushed his thumb over Harry's parted lips, head tiled to one side.

"You're mine," Tom breathed. "Utterly are irrevocably mine."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him and blindly searched for Tom's hand across the sheets.

"Then you're mine too."

A lingering kiss to his lips was his only answer.

"Hey," Harry uttered from the doorway, making his lover look over at him. "Am I interrupting?"

It was almost midnight and he had just returned from a long shower, comfortably dressed in one of Tom's shirts simply because he could. The man glanced up and leaned back in his chair behind the desk. He put his pen down beside the few papers placed there.

"Hello," Tom said. "Did something happen?"

Harry shook his head and crossed the room toward the desk. He made to sit on one of the chairs when Tom motioned him closer. Harry indulged him, circling the furniture until his bare knees hit Riddle's legs.

"And where am I supposed to sit?" Harry asked in a playful voice, crossing his arms.

"How about my lap?"

Harry didn't need to be told twice and moved to stand where he was told. Tom grabbed his hand and positioned Harry as he saw fit, with his back against his chest and Tom's hand over his stomach, just resting there. Harry allowed himself to relax, letting his head fall back to rest in the crook of Tom's neck. Their feet were tangled, Harry's bare skin a stark contrast against the black fabric of Riddle's trousers.

"I'm happy," Harry confessed.

Tom was quiet for a time, their even breath the only sound filling the room.

"How do you know?"

Harry blinked slowly, too comfortable to raise his head in order to look at Tom and see the expression on his face.

"I just do. Being here with you makes me feel happy. Like I could do anything if I wanted. I don't know how to explain it in words."

There was a long pause before his lover replied.

"I still don't understand," Tom murmured into his hair and locked their fingers together on top of Harry's bare legs.

Riddle's confession took him by surprise. To think that the Dark Lord could admit something like this, the fact he did not know something... it was flattering.

"I was kind of lost before you came," Harry tried to explain. "Lonely as well, but mostly without a clear direction in life. I was just there, and then you came and everything changed. Once again I had a purpose. But it's more than that. I enjoy your company and everything we do together, our discussions and so on. Even when you're being an arrogant git to me." Harry paused to trace invisible patterns on Tom's hands. "That's how I know I'm happy."

He was too afraid to ask if Riddle also was.

"Happiness is a feeling I can't quite grasp. Never could, to be honest. I never experienced the sensation you described to me. Not even when I thought I killed you in the Forbidden Forest. I felt pride, triumph, but not happiness. Now…I suppose I can say I'm content. I wouldn't settle only for this," he raised Harry's hand a little, "but it's something I'd like to remain constant throughout everything that will soon follow."

Harry did not know what to do with the information he just received. The honesty, the fact that Tom wanted a future with him and that Harry had made him happy – even if the older looking man didn't understand it yet – was overwhelming.

Harry did not say anything as he moved his head to kiss Tom. They spoke no more that night.

12


	5. Chapter 5

Beta by _vanillaghost_

* * *

"Your mudblood friend is the Minister for Magic…" Tom said, almost to himself, as he stared ahead of him.

Harry barely restrained from rolling his eyes at his lover. They were in the middle of a meeting with the Knights at Althea's house. The place where the now dead wizard had previously sat was vacant, everybody avoiding looking at it for too long.

"She is."

The Seer's gaze was set on him and Harry refused to be the first to advert his eyes. Her white hair was held up high, making her face seem sharper than usual. However, her expression softened when she addressed Tom, briefly reminding Harry of Bellatrix. This was strange, considering they didn't look even a little bit alike. Not even the adoration for Tom was quite the same.

"That's what has become of our world in your absence, my lord," Althea started. "People with dirty blood like the mudblood scum lead us now, pretending she pursues our interests."

"She's right, my lord," Interrupted the man with the scar on his left cheek, the one who glared at him at the last meeting. "We can't allow her to remain in this position any longer. Kill her and the likes of her immediately before they can infest us even more!"

His small speech was met with approving nods and whispers from all around the table. Harry watched Tom watch them, almost seeing the wheels turning inside his mind. It was strange looking at the man now. He wasn't just a temporary ally anymore. He was Harry's partner in crime, his lover. And he had allowed Harry to witness a part of him that may be unimaginable to anyone else. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't proud because of it.

"And we will. But we begin another way."

There was a dramatic pause as he waited for everybody to process the idea. Harry was well informed of Tom's plan so he had no motive to be taken aback by his words. But Althea didn't seem surprised either. Like she already knew. Or maybe she was very, very good at maintaining a neutral expression.

"I intend to become the Minister for Magic," Tom finally announced. "And then we start the change."

The majority of the Knights weren't pleased by the idea, Harry could see it clearly on their faces, but he also didn't miss how unfazed a handful of them appeared.

"Althea, by tomorrow's night I want a complete report regarding the significant officials working for the Ministry. Their families, bloodline, political views, way of upbringing. Everything."

"It'll be done," she answered.

"Good," Tom drawled. "You're all dismissed."

They moved more quickly than the previous time, leaving the room in a matter of seconds, and Harry got a few venomous glances like before. He spoke after the door closed behind the last Knight.

"Safe?"

"Of course."

Tom had successfully linked this room directly to his magic, making it impossible for someone to spy on them. Still, Harry preferred to ask first. Just to be sure.

"They aren't very pleased with the peaceful approach," Harry noted. "They want war."

Tom smirked and adopted a more comfortable position in his chair.

"And they'll have one."

"What do you mean? You said –"

"Tell me, Harry, did anything catch your attention about my Knights tonight?" Tom inquired with a sharp grin.

" _Your_ Knights? You mean Althea's."

"Not anymore. Now answer my question, Harry, and don't disappoint me."

Harry blinked and tried to figure out what he was referring to. The Knights… What about the Knights? Maybe…

"Some of them – three or four, I don't really know…didn't look surprised at all," Harry concluded and looked to Tom for confirmation. "Like they somehow knew about it beforehand."

Harry got an appreciative smile from the older man.

"Good, Harry. Now to answer your question, those four persons knew about my plans from last night."

"You were with me last night," Harry corrected him. "We slept together."

Tom looked amused by his behavior.

"I know. I was there. But I was referring to the time you fell asleep. I looked into their minds on previous occasions. They had no loyalty towards Althea. The only reason they joined her little fan club was because she bragged about being able to bring me back and restore the dark wizards to their rightful place. They are faithful followers of Lord Voldemort. _My_ followers. The only ones in this group who are truly on our side."

"You should have woke me up. I would have come with you," Harry accused, not bothering to conceal the bitterness in his voice. "I thought we were allies."

Tom raised an eyebrow at him. "We are, my Chosen One. You can be sure of that."

"Good, because this isn't going to work if you lie to me. If you keep things from me," Harry returned with a glare.

"I'm telling you now, am I not?"

"Fine."

They looked at one another in silence for a few seconds before Harry sighed in defeat. "Look, I don't want us to fight," he said. "Just don't lie to me ever again."

Tom tilted his head like he was considering something of great importance. "I wouldn't actually call it lying, more like concealing of information."

Harry rolled his eyes at the other man. "Whatever. Same thing."

"If you say so. Now let's head out, we have important things to take care of tonight."

Tom pushed his chair back and extended his hand toward Harry who gripped it and rolling his eyes once more at the smug look in Tom's eyes when his other hand settled on Harry's waist.

"Just making sure you're not going to fall," Tom mocked.

A second later they were standing on the familiar grounds of Malfoy Manor. The place looked exactly the same as Harry remembered it. Not a single peacock this time, but that was another story. Something must have shown on his face because Tom frowned at him.

"What do you find so amusing, mind I ask?"

"Remember the white peacocks?"

"How could I possibly forget?"

"That was kind of silly, you have to admit," Harry joked, turning to stare at the tall iron gates behind them. "How can you even Apparate in here anymore? I would have thought Draco excluded you from the wards a long time ago…"

Side by side in the alley, they began to march towards the manor.

"Why would anyone bother with a dead man?" Tom asked as they took a corner. "I must have been the last thing on his mind, all things considered."

"Lucky you," Harry replied, remembering Draco's trial almost a lifetime ago.

The main doors were unlocked yet something definitely happened once they set foot inside. A small 'pop' was heard and a hunched house elf dressed in dirty rags appeared right in front of them. The creature made to talk but suddenly stopped as it stared at Tom with his wide, round eyes.

"Call your master down here immediately," Riddle ordered.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," The elf responded with a small bow before disappearing as swiftly as he came.

"Aren't you worried Malfoy's going to call for help?"

Tom let out a small grin as he led him further into the main hall. Their steps echoed on the marble floor.

"I am aware of everything and everyone who leaves this house. He wouldn't be able to place a foot outside these grounds if I didn't want him to."

They both raised their heads at the noise coming from the stairs. If Harry thought Ron looked old, Draco Malfoy seemed ancient. He was well dressed in a simple black suit, most probably having done it in a hurry. Leaning half his weight on a silver cane, he slowly came down the stairs to stop a few feet ahead of Tom. But Draco wasn't staring at him, his gaze did not move an inch from Harry.

"Potter?" Draco quavered, his voice trembling.

"Hello, Draco."

"Hate to ruin the lovely reunion, but we have things to discuss," Tom interrupted and narrowed his eyes at Draco.

If Harry didn't know better, he would have said his lover was jealous. Only now Malfoy moved his attention to Tom and his face shifted into a cold expression. He knew then. Most probably felt the Dark Lord's aura from upstairs. Yet there was only silence, no 'my lord', no anything that passed from his wrinkled lips. Just acceptance written all over his face.

"I know who you are," Draco murmured as he met Tom's eyes.

"Of course you do, 'my lord'," Riddle retorted in a cruel voice.

The old man's shoulders stiffened. "You're not my lord anymore."

Harry watched as Tom slightly titled his head, an almost curious expression settling on his face. Then he dramatically turned towards Harry.

"I am under the impression I did not hear Mister Malfoy correctly," Tom taunted. "So Harry, I'd like a second opinion on the matter."

"Of course you didn't. He just said he's glad to follow you again."

Draco's eyes snapped to Harry and began to open his mouth in protest.

"Let's not raise our voice here. We wouldn't want to scare your wife at this late hour," Harry continued, hoping the man understood the situation he was in.

The threat was not subtle at all and Malfoy caught it immediately. Harry saw his Adam's apple bob up and down before nodding and bowing his head in submission.

"Let's move this pleasant conversation to your office now."

Harry and Draco silently followed Tom down the long corridor, feeling all the portraits' eyes on them. The old man's cane made loud noises against the marble floor every time he moved. Riddle knew the way very well, all the decades doing nothing to alter his memory. Not that Malfoy Manor had changed in any way.

Draco's office was on the second floor and was not as big as Harry expected it to be. Or as gloomy. With a slight move of Tom's hand, the fire started burning in the hearth. It cast the room in a warm glow, making it seem almost comfortable. The Dark Lord wasted no time is settling behind Draco's desk and silently motioned them to do the same. Malfoy didn't make one move.

"Take a seat," Riddle said as Harry sat down in one of the two chairs in front of Draco's desk.

"I'd rather not."

"I wasn't asking."

Harry watched Draco finally do as he was told; teeth clenched tightly together, a pained look on his face. The old man was struggling to maintain his composure yet his fear could easily be read from his eyes.

"By tomorrow morning you'll take your father's previous duty of keeping me informed on The Ministry's politics and everything that happens in there."

"I don't have the connections anym –"

"My Chosen One here," Tom motioned towards Harry, "Happens to know very well that even today, your influence in The Ministry of Magic could still be used for our purposes. So do not lie to me ever again."

Draco's white eyebrows rose at the mention of 'our purposes' right before he heard Riddle's promise.

"My lord," Draco slowly began, as if testing the waters. "You must understand that after your supposed demise, I was under the direct surveillance of the Ministry and what was left of The Order of the Phoenix. I could have been sentenced to Azkaban if Harry hadn't pledged in my favor back then."

Tom made a face as if he could barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

"I know all this, but your family's influence is still there. And I want you to use it again."

"I don't have the means necessary to convert someone to your side or plant an informant in The Ministry. Nobody would ever allow me to do it."

"Mister Malfoy, you don't seem to understand what we're talking about in here, nor the situation you currently are in. I don't need you to find me more followers or little birds to sing my song to deaf ears. Not yet. What I desire from you are your political relations with influential people and the necessary means to get someone into politics. And you're more than capable of doing that. More than your son, anyway."

The last remark drained all color from Draco's face. It amazed Harry how much Malfoy had changed. Seeing him worry so openly about any other person beside himself was unnatural. He felt uncomfortable watching his childhood enemy like this. But what really bothered him was the fact that everyone and everything had changed.

 _'_ _Even me and Tom,'_ Harry thought.

"My Lord, if you don't mind me asking, what will you achieve with my connections?" Draco murmured, his eyes cast down.

"I intend to become The Minister for Magic by the end of next year. Most probably October. I remember the elections taking place then. Why?" Tom asked. "Are you surprised by my rather peaceful approach?"

"Of course he is," Harry intervened. "He expected war and death, what else?"'

Tom's face did not change yet Harry could see the humor in his lover's eyes. He himself had a hard time keeping his expression the same.

"He'll do as he's told," Riddle assured him. "After all, nobody needs to suffer for nothing."

"Of course, my Lord," came Draco's muffled reply.

"I hope I needn't remind you why this should remain a secret."

Draco answered so quickly that he almost stumbled over his words. "Of course not, My Lord. Under what name should I present you to my associates?"

"Thomas Gaunt. That name will do. Once you do this I expect a letter. An owl to this alias will do the trick."

Draco's eyes widened, a sign that he recognized the family name. Harry would have been surprised if he didn't, considering the pure-blood's obsession with ancestors and so on. He wondered if there was any respected wizard who didn't know the descendants of Salazar Slytherin.

"Of course, my lord."

Draco remained in his chair, head bowed, as Riddle slowly rose and left the room as if to prolong Draco's suffering. Harry followed shortly behind, stopping in the doorway for a minute to look behind.

"For your family's sake, do as you're told," Harry warned in a low voice.

But Draco gave no sign to have heard him in the first place. Harry stood there for another few moments before moving to catch up with Riddle. There wasn't anything else to be said between the two of them anyway.

"Do you really trust Malfoy?" Harry asked back in their hotel room in Mittenwald.

Tom settled himself on the couch with a book before looking up at him through his long lashes. "Don't be ridiculous. Trust is a foolish thing to have," he said before returning his attention to the yellow pages.

"But we trust each other," Harry reasoned.

"We're something else. You were part of my soul and the other way around. In some way, maybe you still are. Why wouldn't we trust each other?"

He had a good point, Harry supposed. He took off his coat and threw himself onto the bed and sighed, staring at the ceiling.

"Fine, but this thing with Malfoy is risky."

"It is, but as long as his family is involved he won't risk doing anything against me. And he knows very well what I'm capable of. Besides, he's under direct surveillance from my Knights. You don't need to stress yourself over this."

Harry nodded although he knew Tom couldn't see him.

"Have it your way. Another thing; Thomas Gaunt?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Why use an irrelevant fake name when the name of my grandfather is more than enough. Direct heir of Slytherin and a well-known family of pure bloods."

Harry hummed and heard Tom get up to come closer.

"I wasn't really asking about Gaunt. I was more interested in the 'Tom' part," Harry confessed, watching Tom's face from upside down.

Riddle's eyes narrowed at him before speaking. "My account in Gringotts is still active under the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle," he explained. "I can't have two different identities flying around once I start my political career and the press begins to take interest in my persona. It'll be easier this way."

Tom leaned over Harry, their faces inches apart. "But why do you ask?" he wondered aloud.

Harry's hands wrapped around his neck and pulled the man on top of him. His finger smoothened over his chin.

"Because I'd like to know how to call you."

The other man's body stiffened at once but his expression didn't waver. "I would have guessed you already knew the answer to that."

"I think I know, but I simply can't call you Lord Voldemort. Not while we're like this," Harry pointed his chin up at him. "I simply don't see you that way anymore, Tom."

The man's eyes widened but the fury Harry anticipated never came.

"Harry…I don't care how you call me in your head but don't ever say that name to my face again." Tom told him, moving his lips over Harry's neck. "This is the last time I'll indulge you on this subject."

And that was all. Tom's mouth descended on his and Harry gave up arguing. After all, they had enough time for everything.

They were back in England for a little over three months when Harry received The Daily Prophet one morning and saw Tom's picture staring back at him from the front page. Under the moving picture of his lover talking with some old man Harry didn't know, there was a title covering the entire bottom half of the page. _'Thomas Gaunt favored to be elected as Minister by tonight?'_

The question mark was way bigger than it ought to be.

Harry rolled his eyes. Things had gone faster than expected. And Tom had been right, Malfoy did have useful connections. Important enough to request a censure motion against Hermione and win it as well. In that month Riddle had gained more influence than the most consecrate politicians, his name covering the headlines of newspapers for quite some time now. Some compared him to a savior and Harry was amused by the irony. But not everything was all good and well, of course. A few nasty articles here and there commented on his shared bloodline with Salazar Slytherin. Nothing they hadn't been expecting in the first place.

Meanwhile, Harry spent most of his days going back and forth between the manor Tom acquired for them in London, and the newly-restored Riddle Manor where he made plans with the Knights, the ones on their side. Everyone else was only there from time to time, complaining about Tom's lack of action and keeping their mouths shut only when Althea was there. Which she was. Quite often. Harry had tried to get along with her for Tom's sake but he simply hated the woman. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't forget what he had done because of her. There were many nights when he woke up feeling blood all over his hands. Feeling his hands drip wet until he finally stored the memory away in a Pensieve at Tom's advice. But it was still there, in the back of his mind. Only now he was quiet about it and kept his occasional nightmares to himself.

"He'll win."

Harry sighed and stubbornly kept his eyes on the newspaper. Meanwhile Althea circled the table to occupy the chair to his left. She didn't call the house elf and instead poured herself a cup of tea.

"I know," Harry responded. He put the newspaper away and brought his own drink to his lips. It was still hot. The Seer was looking at him over the brim of her drink.

"Excuse me if I'm pressuring you over this, but I wonder if our Lord is going to take some serious action after he is elected," she began.

"Why?" Harry snapped back. "Can't see that in the future?"

Her eyes narrowed, lips tightly pressed together. A weak spot then. _Good_. Harry liked to know where to hit.

"Our Lord is doing something by being elected," Harry said. "I'm sure you understand that. He'll let you know when his army is going to be needed."

He returned his attention back to his tea, signaling that their conversation was over. Harry could still feel her eyes on him.

"You don't like me very much," Althea dared.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "You don't say. Here I thought I wasn't making it obvious enough."

"Harry," she started in a calm tone, entirely ignoring his sarcasm. "I hope you don't take our previous meeting so personal. It had to be done and it had to be done by you only. You're with the Dark Lord now, it shouldn't matter."

Harry almost shattered the tea cup in his hands from gripping it too hard. What angered him the most was her expression, the way she truly believed what she was saying was fair. There wasn't anything mocking in Althea's words, just the simple truth. It made him want to see her on the floor, howling in pain.

"Let's stop this conversation here," Harry advised.

She looked at him with pity and shook her head. "You're right. Our Lord is elected tonight. It's not the appropriate time for bickering." The Seer rose, gracefully pushing her chair back. "Are you going to be at the Ministry tonight?"

"Of course not. I'll be here, waiting for him. Until I build myself another identity I can't really go out in public any time I like, especially in such a place. Besides, wearing a Glamour is too bothersome. Everything will be solved after tonight."

Althea looked down at him, white hair like a halo around her face. "You're right, everything will change tonight. The next time we'll see each other, we'll both have good news."

With that, she left to go up to her own room on the second floor. Harry rubbed his temple in annoyance. Only a few more hours and he could leave this place, go back to their manor in London. This time tomorrow Tom would be the Minster and Althea's visions wouldn't be needed anymore. _She_ wouldn't be needed anymore.

Harry could drink his tea in peace now.

Harry sensed Mercury, one of the Knights, enter the wards as soon as the owl announcing Tom's victory came. With a grin on his lips, Harry went directly to the living room to stare at the pacing woman.

"Did something happen?" Harry worried.

Her red hair was held up high in a ponytail, eyes wide when she saw Harry.

"Master Potter, you must come at once! Some of The Knights plan to attack Diagon Alley tonight, right after Our Lord is going to say his acceptance speech. Mistress Althea tried to stop them, but…"

Panic was written all over her long face so Harry did not hesitate to Apparate directly into the front hall of Riddle Manor, wand ready. His feet barely touched the ground when he noticed the silence around him. The table he had drunk his tea that morning was pushed against the wall, a single chair sitting in the middle of the room. Althea sat on it, all alone.

"There's no one fighting, is there?" Harry asked, gripping his wand tighter.

"Of course not."

She did not smile, nor was her expression cruel in any way. She stared at him like she knew where all this was going. Which she most probably did, Harry considered, dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Then why? And why tonight? What for?"

Althea sighed and pressed her palms together in her lap.

"I suppose I owe you an answer, don't I?" She spoke mostly to herself despite addressing him.

Harry tried to reach out with his magic but he wasn't able to sense another person in the mansion. Nor could he reach outside. He inhaled, suddenly feeling his legs tremble under him. His eyes rose to the Seer's and made to open his mouth when he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

"That's your tea," Althea drawled, and finally stood up. Harry could only see her polished shoes as struggled to take larger gulps of air without his throat feeling like it was on fire. "It was quite difficult choosing the right dosage and the right time for the poison to kick in. And to respond to your previous question, it's all about the future. The future is…endless. I can't even begin to explain to you how difficult all this is for me. To decide which is the best course for the things to come, from a sea of variables. It's like a game. Let's say for instance that a young couple plans to run away from home as their families don't approve of their romance. But I can clearly see what's going to happen. They're going to be killed and robed by bandits on the outskirts of their little village in the dark of night, the girl bring raped right before having her throat slashed open. The boy follows shortly behind. Now, what would you do in my place?"

"Keep them from leaving," Harry gasped as he pushed himself into a kneeling position. His wand was nowhere in sight.

She smiled sadly at him.

"Of course you would. But if the lovers die, their families are going to reconcile out of grief and decide to put together a patrol that keep the villagers safe and save a dozen of lives in the years to come. So would you rather have two people suffer or countless others? Tell me, Harry. Are you still going to save the young love birds?"

Maybe a few years ago his choice would have been different but now Harry didn't have to think very hard to make a decision.

"I'd still save them," Harry managed in a whisper. "I've had enough of 'the greater good'… or whatever you wish to call it. Nobody…nobody deserves to suffer on the behalf of others."

For a moment, Althea seemed to consider his words. At least judging from the silence only broken by his attempts at breathing.

"That's an alternative. However, when you have this gift, you learn there are far more important choices than the wellbeing of two replaceable humans among countless others. That's why I showed you the fake prophecy. Not because I had a silly grudge against the famous Harry Potter who vanquished the Dark Lord. Not even because I wanted to make you suffer for it. No, I did it because there was no other way for our Lord to come back to this world. The first step of many others to be taken."

"And yet you still didn't see me and him together," Harry laughed from where he was now lying completely flat on the floor, hand clawing at his own neck.

Althea kneeled in front of him and looked down at his face with pity. Her hair touched Harry's forehead. "I told you," she echoed. "There are a great number of variables involved here. If you had chosen not to call him that night using The Stone, none of this would have happened in the first place. If that old woman didn't call him your husband, this thing between the two of you wouldn't have occurred so soon. Or if you hadn't told our Lord about it. Even the slightest change in our choices can lead to a different outcome, that's what I want you to understand."

Harry coughed, trying to inhale as much air as possible. There was something pressed over his chest which made his task two times harder.

"Why…why are you telling me all this? After poisoning me like a coward? Who are you justifying yourself for?"

"Nobody, Mister Potter," Althea corrected him. "I firmly believe you ought to be honest with a dying man, especially with a person like yourself. And I want to be clear here. It isn't my desire to kill you but your death is absolutely necessary for the greater good."

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed. Hard. Even if his chest hurt like hell, he laughed right in her face.

"You know he's going to kill you."

"All this is for him," Althea confessed, bringing her ageless face closer to his. "I tried, you know. Although I saw you weren't good for him, I decided to give you a chance. To give you both a chance. Yet time had proved me right. The two of you are a disaster together, no matter how you put it. The Dark Lord has a mission, and I won't allow you to distract him from it. To twist his way of thinking."

There was no trace of malice in her words. It was like trying to reason with a fanatic person and convince them of the truth. It was absolutely useless. Everything said would fall on deaf ears.

"You're a fool if you think I or anyone else could ever hope to convince Tom of something," Harry said in one breath. "He knows what he wants and how he wants it. Voldemort is his own master. Always has been, always will be."

"And I know he's going to kill me," Althea continued as if Harry hadn't said anything in the first place. "But it'll be a priceless sacrifice. Both of us are going to die, yes. But after that, he's going to do everything I envisioned. There are no other variables about this. But I win. _I win_ ," Althea echoed herself.

Harry spat her in the face. He expected a slap or a kick in the face but the Seer just stood and looked ahead of her.

"Our Lord is coming soon," Althea whispered. "I'll let you two alone now. You deserve it, just like I do. A few hours of peace before he'll come for me." The witch moved her attention back to him. "Do you know why he will? Because he loves you. In that twisted way of his, our Lord truly loves you. Now, anyway."

Harry tried to blink away the tears gathered in his eyes, struggling to grab onto her ankle. But Althea stepped back and his hand fell, nails scratching against the floor. By the time Harry could finally raise his head, she wasn't there anymore. It didn't matter; Tom was coming for him anytime now.

So Harry held on and waited for him.

When Voldemort arrived at Riddle Manor, he expected Harry to be there with his followers. When he returned to their home in London after everything was done and did not find him there, he supposed his lover had grown bored with waiting for him the whole day.

That's exactly why his breath froze in his lungs when he saw the fallen form on the floor. Right where his father and grandparents had lain such a long time ago. With only just a look, he realized Harry Potter was dead. Truly and irrevocably dead. But he still couldn't help but fall to his knees and bring the boy's cold body into his arms to search for a pulse. Nothing met his shaking fingers and Voldemort couldn't remember something like this ever happening before. His hands had always been perfectly still before.

His Chosen One's lips remained blue even as he pressed his mouth against them, again and again, pushing his breath into him until he felt like suffocating. Voldemort reached around him with his magic to search for the boy's own but there was nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing. Only coldness against his mouth, closed eyes that did not meet his anymore. Yet… it could not be. Some part of him was stubbornly insisting. Voldemort was not one to lose, especially in front of death. Never had been. And Harry was his, part of his soul, part of his life, part of him, undoubtedly _his_. Death could never touch what was his. He wouldn't allow it.

Voldemort tasted defeat as he again pressed his lips over Harry's and hoped for something, anything. It hurt him how much he ached at that moment. How despite finally getting what he wanted, he could feel nothing else but utter grief clawing at him from the inside out. How he logically knew nothing could be done now, yet he was still pushing his shaking breath into the boy's body. And Voldemort refused to give up. He gathered all his magic, reached out for even the tiniest bit of his soul that was left inside of Harry. Nevertheless, he tried to make Harry's body take a breath of his own. Yet as much as he forced his way in, Voldemort found only stillness, nothing to obey him in there anymore.

Only when the very first ray of sun touched his face hours later did he stand up. His knees were stiff and he almost tripped over his own feet. Harry was a solid, cold weight in his arms, head carefully tucked under Voldemort's chin.

"Let's go home, Harry," he whispered against the boy's hair in a steady voice. "You know I'll take care of everything."

Voldemort Apparated them both directly to their room and carefully lay Harry on the bed. His shaking fingers grazed over his forehead before pressing a lingering kiss there, leaning over him. Then he made a deep cut into his palm and brought it to Harry's lips, and waited.

Harry had brought him back with their shared blood. Why couldn't Voldemort do the same? Why wouldn't it work just as well?

With his forehead pressed against Harry's own, Voldemort waited some more.


	6. Chapter 6

beta by _vanillaghost_

* * *

She was so very tired. Gleeful, but tired. This sense of ease washing over her was new. It was the feeling of a job well done. Althea sighed and tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair.

The Dark Lord was late by two days. However, she could understand that. In a way she regretted not being there to witness his reaction at seeing the boy's body. Did he cry? Did he scream? Did he know it was her? Why didn't he come for her earlier? Althea had come back to Mittenwald right after leaving Potter. She could have fled the country, hidden herself as best as she could, but knew who Lord Voldemort really was. She knew that no matter where or how far she hid, he would always find her. Maybe it would take days, weeks, months, even whole years, but he was going to find her anyway. And the strangest of all things was accepting the inevitability of a violent death. But it was for the best.

After this, Lord Voldemort was going to return to his previous ways. Not the political foolery from before. When Althea first had the vision of a restored Dark Lord, that's what she saw. The Dark Lord as he used to be. A worthy leader to rule them all. To cast away all muggleborns and half-bloods, to stop the persecution of dark wizards. But everything had changed because he couldn't stay away from The Boy Who Lived. Who with his mere presence had spoiled everything Althea had worked so hard for all these years. So many different plans and outcomes, all ruined, and because of what? Because the Dark Lord wanted to fuck Harry Potter. And Althea had seen none of this. By the time she realized where things were going, all her visions lead to one thing only. Potter dead, the Dark Lord killing her in return before returning to his past-self. The price was high but she was more than willing to pay for it. How else could you change history?

She felt his aura before actually seeing him. Standing up, Althea listened to the sound of his steps before the doors banged against the wall and the Dark Lord appeared in the doorway. She couldn't help but feel proud just by looking at him. The undisclosed anger in his eyes, the magic radiating from his body, the cruel expression on his face. Althea stood a little straighter, watching her greatest creation slowly advancing towards her.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because it was the right thing to do. Otherwise you would keep on going with this political charade and ruin us all."

Lord Voldemort stopped a few meters away from her. "So you killed him."

He was calm now, but it was the calm before the storm. Before it shattered everything in its way.

"I did," Althea confessed, "Because trust me, Tom Marvolo Riddle, from the moment you decided to keep him around for your entertainment I've witnessed countless versions of the future, and I can tell you one thing for certain. You will always fall in love with him and you will always lose him. No matter how many times you play it, the song remains the same."

Voldemort's chin rose in defiance. "You've seen a lot of things have you?" he asked, head tilted.

And just like that he slowly slipped his wand back inside his coat, his expression serene. Althea stared at him. It was entirely different from what she had seen. The Dark Lord's wand should have stayed in his hand.

"What now? Are you going to avenge your lover or not?" Althea provoked him, grinning. "Don't tell me you don't care…"

"I'm not going to do anything to you," Voldemort said.

It couldn't be possible. The visions did not lie. Never.

"No," Althea snapped. "You have to kill me! It can't happen otherwise…I've seen it."

The Dark Lord smirked at her. "Oh, you are going to die, do not worry. Only not by my hand."

He took a step sideways and a very-much-alive Harry Potter stood behind him. Althea made to grab her wand from her sleeve but a silent spell sent her straight to her knees, weapon flying into the boy's outstretched palm. For a few moments, only her ragged breath could be heard before Potter decided to speak, looking down at her in an imitation of what had happened two days ago.

Harry looked unforgiving, his green eyes sparkling in the dark.

"I'm not going to torture you if that's what you're thinking," Harry whispered. "But you are going to die."

Althea wetted her lips, opening her mouth to buy herself a little time when the green light made everything disappear. It was the exact opposite from her visions. She was somewhere else when she opened her eyes.

Entirely and utterly alone.


End file.
